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E. A. WEEKS & COMPANY 


CHICAGO 

The Enterprise Series. No. 6. December 6, 1894. Issued Weekly. Subscription price, 

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THE KODAK WOMAN 



/ 

BERTHA N. CLAY 



CHICAGO 

E. A. WEEKS & COMPANY 
521-531 Wabash Ave. 


Copyright 1894 by 
E. A. Weeks & Company 



Typography by Charles H. Kerr & Company, Chicago 


THE KODAK WOMAN 




CHAPTER I. 

The fine old mansion of Frederick Belmont was 
in a state of illumination from the windows in the 
basement to the dormers in the attic. Evidently a 
festive occasion was at hand, and the house was in 
gala attire with decorations and flowers. Mr. Bel- 
mont’s namesake and favorite nephew, Fred B. 
Montpier, had just returned from a long foreign 
trip. He was a man much younger than he appeared, 
and very attractive, not only in person, but from 
his fine, polished manners and entertaining conver- 
sation. His uncle was very fond and proud of him, 
and it was on this occasion that a select company 
of Mr. Belmont’s friends had been invited to give 
the nephew a reception — thus agreeably inaugurat- 
ing an intercourse with a circle of desirable ac- 
quaintances. 

Among the guests were Mr. and Mrs. Lasure. 
Mr. Lasure was a lawyer of considerable ability, 
and at this time was in Mr. Belmont’s employ as 

5 


6 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


his legal adviser. The lawyer’s wife was a gay, 
handsome woman who had been a belle in some de- 
gree, and was a born coquette. She was superficial 
in many respects, and fond of dress and admiration. 

Montpier knew that Mr. Lasure was in his uncle’s 
employ, and also that the young lawyer had a wife 
and several children, and, therefore, was quite un- 
prepared for the vision of loveliness which surprised 
him, as his uncle brought Mr. and Mrs. Lasure for- 
ward to introduce them. His surprise and admira- 
tion, as he rose to meet them, shone in his eyes 
and spoke in his face, and Mrs. Lasure knew the 
language readily; and there was delight and satis- 
faction in her countenance as she responded to the 
gracious cordiality,, of this princely stranger. He 
quickly offered them a seat near his own, saying: 
“I have heard my uncle speak so frequently of you 
that I was impatient to meet you; and as I shall be 
one of the family during my stay in the city, I trust 
I shall be admitted as such into the pleasures and 
intimacy which have come to exist between your- 
self and my uncle’s family. ” 

The conversation now drifted into more general 
topics, and with regard to all, Montpier seemed 
conversant, while being an attractive talker. At 
length Lasure excused himself to speak with Mr. 
Belmont, who was sitting on the opposite side of 
the room. Montpier smiled a gracious assent* and 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


7 


there was no regret expressed in his countenance as 
he turned to Mrs. Lasure and asked if she had seen 
the new pictures which his uncle had just added to 
his collection. She answered in the negative, and 
Montpier conducted her into the hall, then up one 
flight of stairs to the picture gallery, where a num- 
ber of guests were admiring a fine collection of 
paintings in almost every style of the art. They 
entered, and commenced the circuit of the room, he 
explaining, admiring, or criticising, in a most 
charming manner, still retaining her arm, regardless 
of crushing the delicate drapery. Indeed, it was a 
shadow between the soft, warm flesh and the hand 
which caressed it. 

Although some years his senior, yet to him she 
seemed so young, so confiding, and so artless in her 
remarks and her manners, that he, although capti- 
vated, was puzzled by the situation. Was this en- 
tire naivetd real or assumed? If real, then how had 
this woman maintained her youth in its freshness 
— her beauty unimpaired, and her confidence in man- 
kind unshaken, amid years of married life, with its 
usual vicissitudes and, oftentimes, its surprises and 
hard realities, and also amid the sorrows and the 
appealing tenderness of motherhood, with its per- 
plexities and corroding cares? Who was this young 
creature who stood by his side, looking into his 
face with delicately changing cheek and trustful 


8 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


smile, with which at times seemed blended just an 
intimation of an appeal — from what or from whom 
he could never divine — so he only held the arm a 
little closer, and smiled and talked while the ques- 
tion in his mind still held debate. Was this artless- 
ness natural or assumed? If assumed, then no artist 
on the stage had ever reached such perfection in 
masquerading the feelings and emotions. 

Every moment the interest and the mystery in- 
creased. And Mrs. Lasure was as much surprised 
as Montpier. In his presence she experienced a 
kind of restful peace quite new to her, while she 
was puzzled to find herself more at home with this 
stranger than with her own husband. She could 
have poured out her heart to him and felt sure of 
sympathy. But she talked very little. There 
seemed no need of words, for she was satisfied to 
be with him and listen to his voice. 

The festivities were ended, the guest had de- 
parted, and the last carriage had rolled away. The 
lights were extinguished, and quiet pervaded the 
mansion. Montpier had retired — not to sleep, but 
to review the events of the evening. Mrs. Lasure 
was to him an enigma, but he finally concluded to 
reserve his decision until a further acquaintance; 
and with this subject disposed of he fell asleep. 

But to Mrs. Lasure the events of the evening had 
been like a translation into a new world, although 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


9 


over its gleaming portals was written, “Forbidden 
fruit.” She did not stop to remember that in her 
first acquaintance with Mr. Lasure the moments 
spent with him were just as delicious as had been 
the past evening; and also that she made less effort 
to please the husband than she had to win the lover. 
After marriage, Mr. Lasure considered the display 
of tenderness and attention with which he wooed 
his bride a useless expenditure of effort, lacking the 
inspiration of novelty and the excitement of playing 
the winning cards, as the game had already been 
won. He realized this change in his feelings and 
saw the disappointment in the face of his wife when 
he spent his evenings away and did not care to have 
her accompany him, but he only said: “What’s the 
use of this fussing? A man cannot always be a fool, 
and a woman need not expect it.” And so he went 
on his way, and his wife stayed at home and medi- 
tated. Her married life seemed strange, dreary, and 
unsympathetic — so different from the gay, frivolous 
life which, for a few years, she had lived as the 
petted beauty and belle of her own social circle. 

She was never domestic in her feelings, and when 
her children came to her home, she loved them after 
a manner, but gradually they became a burden, the 
care and demands of which were intolerable, and 
she was fast becoming the fretful, nervous, half-in- 
valid mother, a burden to herself and the dread of 


IO 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


the household. Lasure realized this vaguely, but 
he considered it as one of the natural but unfortu- 
nate attendants upon married life, to be ignored and 
gotten along with in the easiest manner possible. 
Therefore he remained away from home as much as 
business and expediency would permit. But when 
the change of circumstances came, dependent upon 
his employment by Mr. Belmont, it produced a rad- 
ical change in the family. A governess was obtained 
for the children, three in number. Alice, the oldest, 
was about nine, Frank nearly seven, while Norma, 
the youngest, was four years of age. The mother’s 
impatience had already taught the older ones to 
watch her moods and keep out of the way when she 
was nervous. Rude rebuffs had driven them to each 
other for sympathy, and Wafey, the governess, came 
into their perplexed lives an abiding comfort, some- 
thing they greatly needed, with her own heart 
hungry for affection. 

With greater leisure, Mrs. Lasure spent more of 
her time in society. She was one of a “set” whose 
husbands were well-to-do men who attended to bus- 
iness during the day and then spent their evenings 
at the club, discussing one-sided politics at election 
time, and, the remainder of the year, choice sup- 
pers, cards, billiards, and the general scandal of 
their immediate neighborhood. Naturally imperious, 
Mr. Lasure became more so; and, after providing a 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


II 


handsome establishment for himself and family, he 
paid little attention further to his domestic concerns. 

This was the state of affairs when Montpier first 
formed the acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. Lasure. 
An intimacy soon sprang up between himself and 
the family, he calling informally whenever oppor- 
tunity offered. He also joined the club and became 
a leading spirit in its gatherings. Meanwhile, Mr. 
Belmont, who had been in ill health during the 
winter, was taken worse during the early spring, 
and suddenly died. Judge Howe, an old and inti- 
mate friend of the family, had drawn Mr. Belmont’s 
will, and now had charge in settling the estate. 
Lasure was also retained by the executors, having 
been in Mr. Belmont’s employ for several years, 
therefore understanding his business matters better 
than any other person. Mr. Lasure at once realized 
that his income would cease as soon as the estate 
was settled. His outside practice was entirely in- 
adequate to meet his expenses; and so, without ex- 
planation, he suggested economy on her part to his 
wife. But she, never having been taken into confi- 
dence in his financial affairs, saw no reason for this 
new departure, except the curtailing of her rights 
and diminishing of her pleasure. Therefore, with 
a surprised lifting of the eyebrows and a slight shrug- 
ging of the shoulders, she replied: "Is it really so, 
that my lord is going to retrench? His obedient 


12 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


wife will follow his example.” But she made no 
change in her course of action, and, as heretofore, 
contracted bills at pleasure and ordered them sent 
to the office for payment. 

Lasure grew morose. He scorned to complain, 
neither would he explain. But coming home late 
one evening, he found the house unnecessarily illu- 
minated, and suggested a more economical expend- 
iture of gas. His wife, smiling, nodded assent, and 
immediately extinguished all the jets but one. Then 
she sat down at the piano and softly played and 
plaintively sang the old-time melodies which had so 
captivated him in the other days, and into his heart 
there came a feeling of remorse for all his coldness, 
and an exceeding tenderness and love took posses- 
sion of his soul and thrilled his very being with a 
desire to gather the sweet singer in his arms once 
more and pour out to her the regrets and the long- 
ings of his unsatisfactory life. He started to rise, 
but the thought came, “Perhaps she doesn’t care." 
He hesitated, the music ceased, the singer rose and 
looked toward him with a faint questioning, regret- 
ful smile, but he was so pre-occupied with his own 
emotions that he smiled not back, and the light 
faded out of her face as she retired from the room, 
while with a sigh he settled back in his seat, and 
the opportunity was gone, forever gone. 

Lasure sat still, while a vague, bewildered feeling 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


13 


of disappointment slowly crept over him. He had 
somehow felt that she would return. But there was 
no sound of footsteps — only silence — utter silence; 
and when he arose and drew aside the portieres of 
the sleeping apartment, she had retired and was ap- 
parently asleep. 

But this was far from the reality. When she left 
the piano her thoughts were filled with the resolves 
of the past evening, and she said to herself: “I do 
so hope to see a response in his face. Just a little 
of the old love-light would have won me to himself. ” 
But his countenance was blank, with a far-away look 
in his eyes. Her heart sank as she thought, “He 
did not even hear me sing” — and all the emotions 
which had been going out toward him recoiled upon 
her sorely tempted heart, there to freeze and petrify 
until immovable as stone. She felt dead to love or 
hate, with only a sense of dull despair. 

“I told him how it would be,” she said, as she 
thought of Montpier. "I knew! I knew! O God, 
pity me! Who else can know or care?” 

Montpier had spent the evening with Mrs. Lasure, 
which accounted for the brilliantly lighted parlor 
which Lasure had observed on his late return home. 
When Montpier entered, he detected a trace of tears 
in her countenance, while her subdued mariner ap- 
pealed to his sympathy, which expressed itself in 
his quiet greeting as he took a seat. 


J 4 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


"Are you alone?" he asked, as she closed the door 
and sat down upon the sofa. 

"Certainly, as usual,” she replied, with an attempt 
at a smile which ended in a glint of tears and a 
quiver of the lip. 

An embarrassing silence followed. Montpier at 
once realized that there must be perfect confidence 
between them, or the conversation must be confined 
to topics entirely remote from anything of interest 
to either. He was naturally kind and affectionate, 
and he said frankly: 

"Mrs Lasure, something troubles you, and if it is 
right for me to know, will you tell me, as I cannot 
be happy while perhaps in some manner I could 
be of service to you?” 

She dropped her eyes for a moment, and, by a 
strong effort, controlled her pent-up feelings, which 
clamored to pour out their anguish into the ear of 
some one who cared. Looking up, she said: 

"I don’t know. Things seem strange to me when 
I stop to think at all. At times I seem old in ex- 
periences which are bitter and chilling, while a mere 
child in things I ought to know. My perception is 
acute to painfulness, and I detect moods and emo- 
tions in myself and others as quickly as colors by 
the sunlight. On this account I suffer from remorse 
for my own inefficiency, while my heart is hungry 
for sympathy and chilled by neglect. I dare say this 


THH KODAK WOMAN 


15 


to you, because I feel that you will not despise me 
as a weakling, or treat me with contempt.” 

Montpier’s feelings were intensely wrought upon. 
He knew that the young wife was not satisfied with 
the frivolous life which she was leading. But it 
was not his right to soothe and caress and reassure 
the wounded and repentant heart back to happiness 
and repose. But he came and sat by her side and 
took her hand in his while he said: 

“My dear Mrs. Lasure, I am sure you will per- 
mit me to be your friend, and allow me to tell you 
how this seems to me. I will not pretend to mis- 
understand you, but I think I can affirm that your 
husband’s naturally imperious manners obscure a 
really kind and affectionate heart.” 

"But,” she said, "before we were married there 
were no clouds, and since, there has been no sun- 
shine. ” 

"The blackest clouds have rifts through which the 
sun shines occasionally,” he replied. "Have you 
ever explained and talked all this over — opened 
your heart to him and asked for a return of those 
early days?” 

Here Mrs. Lasure withdrew her hand from his, 
and raised her eyes to his face, while a flush for a 
moment colored her pale and expressive features, 
as in sarcastic tones she replied: 

"A wife scorns to beg for what is her inalienable 


i6 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


right — her last treasure — all that is left out of the 
wreck of her girlhood’s freedom and happiness — the 
love of her husband.” 

Her attitude, the earnest face beautified with the 
changing emotions of a righteous indignation, to* 
gether with the clear presentation of a condition in 
domestic life which had sometimes puzzled him, 
but which he had never fathomed — all this came to 
him like a revelation, and he sat still, looking at 
her who had changed from a helpless child into an 
irate priestess, officiating at the shrine of a dese- 
crated altar, seeking to restore, and purify, and 
uplift the trampled sacrifice. Presently he said: 

“I never saw these things in this light before. 
But, while I grant as true all you have said, yet 
allow us men at least the credit of being stupid. We 
have never realized the value of our love as esti- 
mated by woman. We have never counted the cost 
to them of its purchase. Its sacredness, and its 
necessity to their happiness, never appeals to us in 
the light in which you have just presented it to me." 

Both were silent. Her attitude was unchanged, 
while her eyes looked into distance — whether past 
or future he was unable to tell. He had been fas- 
cinated by her on the first evening of their acquaint- 
ance, and he had loved her with a sort of compas- 
sionate tenderness since. But now he was awed, and 
in his heart there was a feeling akin to adoration. 
With a low sigh at last she replied: 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


17 


“If what you say is true, there might be reconcil- 
iation, but the way thereto I cannot see.” 

Montpier had observed great versatility in her 
moods and her emotions, and he said: 

“Cannot you surprise him out of his indifference 
and restore the olden times without any definite 
planning or organized effort or reference to the past? 
Let oblivion cover all as though it had never ex- 
isted. ” 

“If it could only be," she said, clasping her hands 
quickly, and looking with pathetic earnestness into 
his face. “I would try if I only knew how.” 

“But you don’t need to try. Your heart is all 
right, and let it guide you. Do just as you did in 
the olden time." 

“But I cannot — I cannot — don’t you see?" she 
continued, with an earnestness that was touching 
in its helplessness. “The flowers blossom in the 
springtime because the birds call and the sun in- 
vites, and the zephyrs caress them from their slum- 
bers. But how shall they bloom again midst the 
drear of autumn or the chill of .winter? How can 
they respond when there is only ice and silence to 
call for their response?" And she covered her face 
with her hands, while he noticed that she trembled, 
but that was all. 

Montpier neither spoke nor stirred, but a peculiar 
smile, a mixture of exasperation with a sense of the 


l8 THE KODAK WOMAN 

ludicrous, was expressed in his countenance as he 
viewed the situation. He, Montpier the peerless, 
as society accounted him, sitting here amid the at- 
tractive surroundings of an elegant home, alone 
with a handsome, impulsive, but disconsolate wife, 
trying to reconcile her to an imperious, indifferent 
husband. He looked at the quiet form beside him, 
whose face was still hidden, and he was glad that 
it was so. His smile changed to indecision as he 
thought, "This is dangerous business — dangerous 
business for all three. In fact, it is becoming quite 
dramatic.” But sometimes the drama becomes too 
realistic for the stage, and with an effort he contin- 
ued: 

"This must cease.” He laid his hand upon her 
arm, saying, "Now, Mrs. Lasure, I think you will 
succeed — you can trust yourself — and if at any time 
I can be of service, you have but to let me know. 
But it is getting late, and I must go.” And, bid- 
ding her good-night, he withdrew. 

She was somewhat reassured by his hopeful words 
and manner, but still had a presentiment that some- 
thing unfortunate was about to happen, and she sat 
trying to reason this unpleasant foreboding away, 
when her husband came in for the night and re- 
marked in regard to the illumination of the parlor. 
The result has already been told. 



20 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


The next evening Lasure came home late as usual, 
and, as he entered, he stumbled over a chair stand- 
ing, by accident or otherwise, directly in his way to 
the gas. His wife, as she heard the confusion ac- 
companying the fall, quietly remarked: 

“Be careful, my dear; you might hurt yourself.” 

Lasure, smarting from the bruises occasioned by 
the fall, but still more from the exasperating words 
and mocking tones of her voice, replied: 

“Any one with common sense would leave the 
gas burning.” 

“It wouldn’t be economical,” she replied, in the 
same measured tones. 

Her words and manner irritated him more and 
more, and he retorted: 

“I wouldn’t be a fool if I were in your place.” 

“Of course not; you would be in bed, instead of 
getting drunk at a club and pitching over chairs.” 

“Be still, will you?” he shouted, unable to bear 
her taunting. 

In the same mocking voice she replied, “You are 
setting a bad example. Your voice is elevated, and 
your manners are quite ungentlemanly. ” 

He clenched his fist, his breath came hot and 
fast, but, from sheer inability to* master the situa- 
tion, he was silent. 

Mrs. Lasure had felt humiliated at her own relent- 
ing and her vain attempt on that eventful evening 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


21 


to stir once more the passionless depth of a self- 
absorbed soul. 

“Tyrant!’ 1 she thought, “I’ll teach you that I am 
not a child to be trifled with for an hour and then 
cast aside as a worthless toy.” But she laid no 
plans, had no schemes, but simply did adroitly and 
quickly whatever the occasion demanded in carry- 
ing out her purpose. 

Things grew rapidly worse. Lasure stayed longer 
at the club, taking care to provide himself with 
matches, that the chair comedy might never again 
be enacted. At length, a bill for $50 came to his 
office, asking for immediate attention. It was 
mailed from a fashionable studio, and specified: 
“Pictures of three children, done in pastel,” 
and signed, “Monsieur De Long.” Lasure crushed 
the paper in his hand and set his teeth firmly, 
but was silent. For some time, small bills had 
found their way to the office, mostly for fancy 
articles, current exchange in the set to which his 
wife belonged, but one for $15 was from a French 
caterer for serving “twilight tea” for six, and 
signed, “Lafeur, Broadway.” 

Until now, he had always paid the bills without 
comment, feeling like a man who had made a fool 
of himself and was reaping the reward of his folly. 
His imperious nature scorned to complain. He 
could suffer with a grim endurance. But the taunt- 


22 


THJS KODAK WOMAN 


ings of his wife were unbearable. He had learned 
too late that the very audacious attractions which 
had won him were the least desirable in a compan- 
ion. But the time had come when something must 
be done. When and where would these demands 
cease? Uncertainty was on every hand. He was 
fighting with problems in the dark. He knew that 
his club bills far exceeded hers, but then, he earned 
the money, and his business relations demanded it. 
Yet with a slight twinge of conscience he remem- 
bered that as his prospects financially grew dubious 
his extravagance increased, lest his chums should 
suspect the facts. 

It was near the dinner hour, and, hastily locking 
the office, he started for home. He was white with 
suppressed rage, and his bearing was that of a man 
with a mighty purpose, as he strode loftily onward. 
When he reached the house, instead of entering, he 
rang the bell, and to the servant’s response, he 
asked that Mrs. Lasure come to the parlor. She 
quietly answered this unusual summons. When she 
entered and saw his towering form with its blanched 
face, as he passed her and locked the door by which 
she entered, she knew that the supreme moment 
which she had anticipated for weeks and was well 
prepared to meet was upon her. With all the de- 
liberation of an expert in intrigue she had in imag- 
ination lived this moment over and over, until it 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


23 

was familiar and she had decided upon her role and 
could act it perfectly. Sitting down demurely, she 
clasped her dainty hands, and with a confiding look 
inquired: 

"What is it, dear? Can I do anything for you?" 

This coolness — this audacity — this utter innocence 
of circumstances which to his excited fancy seemed 
to cloud the air and surge and boil around them, 
shocked and puzzled him. In answer to her inquiry 
he flung the hated bill at her feet. 

"Read that,” he said between his set teeth. 

She took the paper, carefully spread it out and 
smoothed it with her jeweled hand, then slowly and 
deliberately read it, while it seemed an age as he 
waited. Then folding it, she handed it back, and 
without any change in her attitude, the expression 
of her countenance, or the smooth modulations of 
her voice, she said: 

"Why, dear, is that all? I really thought some- 
thing had happened.” 

"Happened!” he roared, "isn’t that enough?” 

"Why,” she replied, "such circumstances must be 
very frequent at the office, unless you meet your 
bills much more promptly than you used to. But 
I wouldn’t talk so loud, as it might injure the fine 
intonation of your voice, or impair your delicate 
health. But dinner is waiting,” and, quick as 
thought, she passed with a graceful sweep into the 
dining-room. 


24 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


Lasure stood still, dazed — stranded amid the 
surges of his own passions, without sympathy or 
help from any quarter. He was ignored, disregarded 
— outgeneraled in this first, fierce encounter in his 
domestic life. Dimly he saw the waves of misfor- 
tune and disgrace and a relentless doom gather at 
his feet, but he was helpless. He followed his wife 
to the dining-room, excused himself, and left the 
house. A look of triumph was in her face as she 
minced abstractedly at the dinner, and soon left 
the table. She knew that Lasure would not return 
until the small hours of the morning, and she was 
free to think or act as she chose. Hastily direct- 
ing a note, she went out and procured a messenger 
to deliver it. She did not wait long, when an an- 
swer came. It ran thus: 

"Meet me at the clock tower in Mount Morris 
Park at eight this p. m. ” 

Hastily she penned the following note to her hus- 
band: 

"My Dear: 

"I will not burden you any longer with my pres- 
ence or my bills. Mind, I am going for a vacation 
to the country. You need not alarm the police, or 
drag the river, or hunt in attics. I shall not suicide. 

I shall live, I trust, in peace. Wafey will care for 
the children. They are not acquainted with you. 
You will only have to pay the bills.” 

She donned a traveling suit with hat to match, 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


25 


and then went to see the children. Wafey was with 
them in their room, when, to their astonishment, 
the butterfly mother came in and very tenderly 
kissed them all. Even Wafey came in for a caress, 
and when Mrs. Lasure, with a little quiver in her 
voice, said, “Take good care of the babies,” Wafey 
sprang up with alarm and asked with tears in her 
voice, “O, what have I done?” “Nothing,” the 
mother replied; “it is all right;” and then, with a 
little hesitation and a fond, lingering look, she was 
gone, and as the door closed, poor bewildered Wafey 
burst into tears, while the children gathered around 
her and cried in sympathy over a shadow which had 
suddenly darkened their little lives — a shadow of 
what, or from where, they knew not, only they felt 
that a change had come over their home. 

Mr. Lasure returned late that night, and, stop- 
ping in the hall, he struck a match and, proceeding 
into the room, lighted the gas. The portieres to 
the sleeping apartment were drawn back; the bed 
was untouched; evidently no one had been there 
that night. With a grim expression of mingled dis- 
appointment and satisfaction he muttered: “Well, 
my pretty lady, what deviltry are you up to now?” 
He caught sight of the note on the dresser, and 
after reading it, laid it down with a sigh of relief, 
feeling that, for to-night at least, he should not have 
to endure the taunting words and mocking tones 


26 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


before which he quailed and writhed like a helpless 
coward in the presence of his master. He imme- 
diately retired, and, having drunk more than usual, 
soon fell asleep. 

Late in the morning, as he awoke, his first impres- 
sion was a sense of stillness throughout the house. 
Arousing from the partial stupor, he hastily dressed, 
and then sat down to contemplate the situation. 
Wafey and the children had quietly dressed, eaten 
breakfast, and noiselessly left the house for an early 
walk. The children remembered last night and its 
strange, nameless terror, and none had courage to 
ask for their mother. They took a long walk in the 
park, but they neither laughed, nor sang, nor played. 
They only talked a little, looked scared, and wished 
things were different. 

Lasure sat quietly for a little, while it slowly 
dawned upon him that for once he was master of 
the entire situation. And yet, strange as it may 
appear, he was not satisfied, and, in spite of him- 
self, he began to feel that the graceful form, the 
mocking tones even, would be a relief to this dull, 
dead stillness with its uncertainties. But the cir- 
cumstances demanded immediate action. He went 
to the dining-room, and Mary, the only servant, 
prepared his breakfast. He dared ask no question, 
lest he betray ignorance of his wife’s whereabouts; 
and, rising, he slowly passed out of the house. But 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


27 


he knew not where he wished to go, nor what he 
ought to do, nor what the next development in this 
strange plot would be, and a vague dread took pos- 
session of him. In this mood he walked swiftly 
away toward the nearest suburbs of the city, where 
were the fewest people and least improvements. He 
soon reached a neighborhood entirely unknown to 
him, where houses were interspersed with unculti- 
vated fields and clumps of trees and broken fences 
— a motley group of unsightly things, without order 
or design. 

Everything was still and stupid, but it suited him. 
It was like his own life and surroundings, which 
had just been thrown into disorder, without the 
power or desire on his part to change them. He 
sat down on a broken log, removed his hat, and 
wiped the perspiration from his brow, and with a 
deep sigh, leaned his head upon his hand. When 
he looked up, he saw, at a little distance and nearly 
in front of him, a tall, gaunt form all in black, with 
a black veil over her face, just putting away a ko- 
dak. Taking in the situation at a glance, he sprang 
to his feet, and going forward, said: 

“Hollo there! What are you about? Give me 
that picture.” 

With just the faintest approach to a . smile she 
said: “Who are you, to demand the fruits of my 
labor, and thus rob me of the miserable pittance 
upon which I subsist?” 


28 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


"How dare you,” he replied, "encroach upon the 
mysteries and the miseries of the unfortunate and 
give them an object lesson to the world, for its crit- 
icism and contempt?” 

She dropped the kodak into a bag and, gathering 
it up tightly in her hand, said: 

"I have it at last — what I have been in search of 
for years — a picture to finish my set of the ‘Fates.’ 
I’ve got it, and it is already named — ‘The Unfortu- 
nate.’ Just look at the surroundings — sterile fields, 
decaying houses, broken fences, broken manhood, 
broken heart— the picture is perfect — my set is com- 
plete. But what wrecks were combined to fill the 
bill!” she added, waving her hand toward the sur- 
rounding desolation, which included Lasure, with 
all his wretchedness stamped upon his countenance. 

"Fiend of the kodak sorceries,” he cried, "how 
dare you combine the misfortunes of nature and of 
man, to bruit about the public marts for gold, sell 
human agonies for bread? Give me the picture, I 
say,” — and as he stepped toward her, all the old 
pride and princely bearing had returned to him. 
But she waved him away, while her eyes gleamed 
with a strange light as she said in a tragic voice: 

"Avaunt! you with the lordly mien, but with the 
selfish, cruel hand, ruling hearts with iron, and 
crushing where you cannot rule. But, like a miser- 
able coward, you are helpless amid the wrecks you 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


29 


have made, without one element fn your nature by 
which to reorganize what you destroy. We have 
met before. We may meet again. Aback! or I 
strike,” she cried in a deep voice as he stepped 
toward her, and with a dramatic sweep of her arm, 
and a long, swinging stride, she disappeared in the 
distance. 

Lasure was himself once more. It seemed to 
have needed just this short dramatic scene to work 
the cure. “I’ve seen that face before,” he said 
thoughtfully, but he could not quite recall where, 
while he started for home, returning even more 
hastily than he came. He immediately decided to 
give up his handsome cottage, and take a suite of 
rooms near his office. Mary, the servant girl, was 
all the help they could afford to keep, and with 
much regret Wafey was discharged after they had 
gotten in their new quarters. But it was a sorry 
time for the motherless children when the parting 
came, and they clung to her crying and sobbing as 
they had done that evening when their mother left 
them in such a strange manner. The first was a 
vague, nameless dread of something, they knew not 
what, but this was a separation from the only true 
friend they had ever known. Wafey cried bitterly 
while she gathered them all in her arms and kissed 
and caressed and tried to comfort them. She prom- 
ised to stay near and come often, and with many a 


30 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


backward look and attempt at smiling, and a wave 
of the little motherly hand, she went down the street 
toward her new home. 





/ 


CHAPTER II. 


When Mrs. Lasure left the house, she hastened 
to the park, and, in a short time, reached the clock 
tower on the tall bluff. It was a steep, difficult 
ascent, and was seldom visited except by appoint- 
ment, after night-fall. She was nervously exhausted 
by the events which had so recently transpired, 
fatigued by the exertion of reaching the tower, faint 
and almost breathless, as a tall figure came from the 
shadows with a graceful, elastic step, and with a 
low “Permit me,” took her light form up in his 
strong arms and quickly retreated to the shadow 
again. Here he tenderly deposited his companion 
on a low seat, and, sitting by her side, he still sup- 
ported her with his arm. 

Both were silent, but he observed that she trem- 
bled, and he inquired, as his soft hand for a moment 
caressed her face: 

“Are you so fatigued, or does something trouble 
you? Your note did not explain.” 

But the reaction now came. The nervous tension 
ceased, and trembling and sobbing hopelessly, she 
lay in his arms, weeping and moaning like a weary, 
31 


32 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


desolate, homesick child. Patiently and tenderly 
he removed her hat, and, leaning his cheek upon 
the soft curls, he smoothed her forehead, damp with 
perspiration, pressing her flushed, hot cheek against 
his shoulder, pitying, caressing, and soothing as 
only one who thoroughly understands human feel- 
ings in their morbid intensity can do. It was little 
he said, but the soft caress, the slight pressure of 
the arm which supported her, the low, musical voice, 
acted as a balm to her feelings, and after a while, 
although with evident exertion, she sat erect and 
seemed herself once more. And then she told, as 
best she could, what had passed between herself 
and husband; and now that it was over, and the 
excitement and anger gone, she blamed herself 
equally with him for the unfortunate affair. But, 
knowing his imperiousness, his selfish nature, and 
stubborn disregard for even her reasonable wishes, 
she saw no way back to a reconciliation. Silent 
she sat with bowed head and clasped hands for a 
while, and then she said: 

"No, I dare not meet him again. I am too weak. 
What shall I do?" 

Montpier thought for a moment and then asked: 
"Does your husband know anything of your plans?” 

"Yes, I left a card saying that I should take a 
vacation in the country.” 

Quietly he ^replied, “You were very wise. You 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


33 


need rest, and, by a short absence, he may come to 
realize what he has lost by selfishness, and will have 
an opportunity of cultivating the grace of forbear- 
ance and appreciation. I think I see the way clear- 
ly. I have an acquaintance, a female physician, 
who has a retreat called ‘The Shelter’ out in the 
country, and it will be just the place for you at 
present, and I will arrange everything, if you will 
only trust to me,” he said, with a voice and man- 
ner calculated to quiet all doubts, if any had arisen. 

“But when will you go?” he asked. 

She sat dazed, almost petrified, facing her des- 
tiny. She could not go back; she did not have cour- 
age to meet her husband after such a parting as 
their last had been. The past stretched backward 
in one long waste of desolation and misery. The 
future could not be more terrible, and at present she 
craved rest and seclusion more than all beside. She 
arose, laid her hand upon his arm, and said, “I will 
go now.” 

As soon as this decision was reached, they made 
the quickest time possible to the Central Depot and 
took the night train for the west. Here she was 
assigned a berth in the sleeper, and at present all 
necessity for further action was over; and greatly 
exhausted, she immediately retired and soon fell 
asleep. 

It was daylight when she awoke. Bewildered for 


34 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


a moment, she thought herself at home, but the 
motion of the cars, the rumbling of the train, and 
the strange surroundings told the story of what had 
passed far more emphatically and with an awful 
realism which words could never have expressed. 
Hastily rising, she arranged her toilet, but, as she 
looked in the mirror, she was startled by the appari- 
tion which greeted her gaze. Was that face, with 
wretchedness and regret stamped upon it, those 
heavy, languid eyes looking out at her — were they 
the same that only a few days ago were the joyous, 
sparkling attraction in the social set to which she 
belonged? How long ago it seemed, with an eternity 
of misery stretching between then and now! 

Just as the train stopped, Montpier came to her, 
and getting out at the depot, they took the stage 
for the small town to which they were going. In 
the old stage coach, with a motley group of passen- 
gers, Mrs. Lasure had time for reflection. The past 
seemed like a frightful dream from which she must 
soon awake. The morning was perfect. The grass, 
and trees, and flowers, the handsome country homes, 
with the singing of the birds, helped to quiet her 
feelings, and she commenced wondering what sort 
of a woman her hostess, the keeper of “The Shel- 
ter,” might be. Mrs. Lasure hoped she might be 
like her own mother, whom she had not seen for 
many months. How she did wish that she might 


/ 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


35 


have a kindly, inviting face, and be one to whom 
she could confide her troubles! So intense was this 
longing that, unconsciously, she had endowed this 
unknown personage with all the attributes she de- 
sired to find in her, and in imagination had told this 
woman her own perplexities, wrong-doings, and 
regrets, and had found tender sympathy, been for- 
given, and helped back to a better and more satisfac- 
tory life than she had ever known. 

But just here the lumbering coach stopped in the 
edge of the town, and Montpier stood ready to help 
her out. She sprang to the ground with a lighter- 
heart than she had had for some time past. Going 
up the long shady walk to “The Shelter,” they found 
the door ajar. So they walked in and sat down in 
the parlor. 

“You see,”, he said, “I feel quite at home here, and 
doubtless you will also in a few days. Just make 
yourself comfortable while I find the Doctor.” 

Thus left alone, she noted the surroundings. The 
room was plainly but comfortably furnished, appar- 
ently with an eye to business rather than beauty. 
The curtains especially, which were of heavy, dark 
drapery, gave a somber look to the room. Mont- 
pier soon returned with the Doctor, whom he in- 
troduced as his friend Mrs. Dr. Hull. She greeted 
Mrs. Lasure with a profusion of cordiality, assuring 
her that if she was a friend of Montpier, she was 


3 ^ 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


most happy to meet her. Without doubt they should 
be the best of friends, as his endorsement was an 
unfailing passport wherever he was known. She 
always thought him a connoisseur in his selections, 
and the present instance was proof of the fact. 
This was said with a nod of familiarity and shrewd- 
ness which was intended to convey the idea that she 
took in the situation. 

“But I will get you a lunch, as it is too late for 
breakfast. ” 

Mrs. Lasure, having recovered from the amazement 
and disappointment which seemed to strike her 
dumb at the senseless clatter and gross familiarity 
of this first meeting, arose and said: 

“If the Doctor please, I prefer not to have lunch 
ordered for me, as I am too much fatigued to eat 
anything before the dinner hour.” 

“O, yes, I comprehend. I will get you a strength- 
ening potion for your nerves, and then if you 
choose, you can lie down a while this morning. " 
And, beaming with cordiality and fussiness, she left 
the room. 

Montpier came quickly and took a seat on the 
sofa by the side of Mrs. Lasure as he said: 

“I want you to pay strict attention to what Isay 
and understand it perfectly. I may not have an 
opportunity of telling you twice. Now, mark! 
You are Mrs. Lasure, the wife of my uncle’s attor- 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


37 


ney. I became acquainted with your family by that 
means. You are delicate, and need an outing in the 
country, and, not knowing where to go, I recom- 
mended this place; and as I had business here in 
town, you came with me, and your husband expects 
me to arrange for your board and see that you are 
made comfortable, as you are not familiar with bus- 
iness affairs. The mail for ‘The Shelter’ is delivered 
by special arrangement, but you need the walk, and 
prefer to have yours left at the office with the gen- 
eral delivery, and will go for it yourself. Give tf^js 
order at the postoffice and no one need know any- 
thing about your correspondence. You understand?” 

She bowed her head. 

"If you choose to lie in bed and be cared for, you 
can do so. If you prefer to roam about in the sun- 
shine and fresh air, do that. I think I wouldn’t 
take medicine,” he said in an undertone; "you don’t 
need it. But there shall be no surveillance or re- 
straint placed upon you in any way. I shall come 
and see you as often as prudence will permit, and 
believe me,” he added, in a tone of affection and 
regret, "it will be a hard task to stay away. I shall 
tell the Doctor absolutely nothing; and if she ever 
knows what is past, it will not be from me. If at 
any time your wishes are not regarded, write me at 
once, and it will cease. Here is my address, ” — hand- 
ing her his card. "I presume you have a private 




38 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


pocket which is always about your person, where 
you will keep this and all other matters which you 
do not wish inspected. 

“Remember, invalids are never loquacious. Some- 
times it is convenient to be too stupid to keep awake. 
I shall not see you for a few days, as I just received 
a telegram which calls me back to the city. But I 
think I have said all that is necessary — only that I 
realize that I seem strangely cold and abstracted to 
you. But business uncertainties of an important 
nature must be my apology. I may not see you again 
before I leave the city. Therefore let me bid you 
good-bye right here.” 

He smoothed back the curls from her forehead, 
softly caressed her cheek, and she observed that 
his hand trembled and his face flushed and paled 
alternately, as though some great anxiety filled his 
mind. He took her hand in both of his, pressed it 
gently, then raised it to his lips as he said, “Good- 
bye; may some good angel guard you” — and the 
parting was over. 

A rap at the door announced the Doctor’s return, 
and Montpier stepped and opened it. She had a 
tumbler in each hand, one containing a reddish 
liquid, the other colorless. 

“Here,” she said brusquely, “drink this and you 
will feel better presently.” 

Montpier took the glass she offered and handed it 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


39 


to Mrs. Lasure. She swallowed the contents with a 
little shudder and quickly drank some of the water, 
to remove the taste and the smarting from her mouth. 
He did not sit down again, but went out into the 
hall, followed by the Doctor, who closed the door 
after them. 

Left alone, Mrs. Lasure felt that her confidence 
had been betrayed, and that now she was left alone 
in the hands of a scheming, unscrupulous monster. 
The Doctor’s countenance was forbidding in the 
extreme, with almost colorless fluffy hair, treach- 
erous steel-blue eyes, large nose, and cruel, square- 
cut mouth, with gross, heavy chin and jaw. She 
was above the medium height, with a form of mas- 
culine proportions, and her gait was a heavy stride, 
suggesting force without grace or elasticity. Her 
coarse, vulgar manner was not only a revelation of 
her character, but repulsive and unbearable. Mont- 
pier’s affectionate adieu and assurance of protection 
passed for little in view of her own helplessness 
and the absolute power which this woman had over 
her. The very caution which he was obliged to give 
showed to what extremities he was driven to ensure 
her the common courtesies of the ordinary home, and 
secure against invasion the privacy of her personal 
affairs. 

What he told her about not taking medicine now 
came to her mind, and she thought, “Surely the 


4 ° 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


woman cannot wish to take my life. ” Mrs. Lasure 
little knew all the purposes for which drugs are ad- 
ministered, and it was well that she did not; for so 
intense were her feelings and her fears, that a faint- 
ness came over her, and she rose to go to the door, 
but found that she could not stand. Throwing herself 
back on the sofa, the room commenced to whirl 
around, while she seemed to be going up to the 
ceiling. Soon the couch began to rock, but she 
clung to it with all her strength, and presently the 
tumult in her brain subsided, and she lay quiet, but 
so miserable. 

“Drunk! drunk!” she said. “O, the horror of it! 
When will this cease?” But a stupor followed, and 
she was soon oblivious to all her surroundings. 

When Montpier and Doctor Hull left the room, 
they crossed the hall and went through a large wait- 
ing room, thence into a small boudoir exquisitely 
furnished and in striking contrast to the rest of the 
house. Here they sat down for a conference as he 
said: 

“I wish to arrange for Mrs. Lasure’s board while 
she remains here. I will see that it is paid, and 
her husband will settle with me.” 

“Yes, if she has got any,” chuckled the Doctor; 
'Tve seen chickens before.” 

“Be still,” he said, “I’ll have no more of these 
insinuations or this miserable prying curiosity. Let 


/ 



42 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


one stain attach to her reputation through your lying 
tongue, or harm one hair of her head, and you know 
the consequence. We are acquainted. I can trust 
you, for self-protection is stronger, even in the 
basest natures, than the most fascinating temptations 
of the devil. Will you listen now?” 

The woman was cowed by his words, and was 
silent. 

“I wish her to have everything necessary for her 
comfort, and to be left free to do as she pleases, 
and you shall not torment her with questions. Do 
you hear?” 

The woman nodded. 

“The telegram I received this morning is urgent. 
I do not know when I shall return. But that is 
no matter. You have reason to believe that it is 
for your interest to obey. But I must be going.” 

He rose, bade her good-bye, and passed into the 
hall. Here he halted, opened the parlor door, and 
went in and closed it. Mrs. Lasure lay on the 
couch in a profound sleep. Her head rested on one 
hand, while the other lay carelessly above it, on 
the crimson velvet of the cushion. A trace of the 
recent anguish was seen in the slightly contracted 
brow and the lines about the mouth, and there were 
tear stains on the cheeks. Montpier’s heart was 
touched by this picture — beautiful in its desolation, 
with none to help or care. He sighed as he turned 
away and murmured: 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


43 


“Poor child, sleep on and take your rest. Heaven 
only knows how much you may need it.” 

And so they parted, little dreaming that many 
years should elapse before they met again. 

Leaving the room, he hastened to get the return 
stage to the depot, and the next morning found him 
in the city once more. 

It was late in the day when Mrs. Lasure awoke. 
She found a couch robe spread over her, and with 
a little shiver she thought of that massive form 
with the repulsive features standing over her while 
she slept. A scent of flowers filled the room, and 
she observed a plate of exquisite blossoms, princi- 
pally pansies and mignonette, on the center table. 

“Is it possible,” she thought, “that in this place 
there is some one who loves flowers?” And her feel- 
ings began to warm a little toward the invisible 
“some one” who had covered her in her sleep and 
had brought flowers to comfort her when she awoke. 
But as she rose up, her head began throbbing with 
a dull pain, her mouth was dry and parched, and a 
feverish thirst consumed her. She touched the call 
bell which stood beside the flowers. Soon the door 
opened, and, to her surprise, a duplicate of Doctor 
Hull came into the room. It was the same type of 
features, with the characteristic nose and mouth, 
but younger, more polished in manners and grace- 
ful in carriage, yet with the same indications of a 


44 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


scheming, relentless desire to convert everything 
that came within her grasp to her own use and ad- 
vantage, regardless of methods. The young lady 
came forward with an equivocal smile as she said: 

“You have had a long sleep. Are you rested?" 

“I can hardly tell,” Mrs. Lasure replied, “as my 
head feels bad, and I am feverish and thirsty." 

“Mamma will give you some medicine, and I will 
send lunch to your room.” 

“Then am I to infer that Doctor Hull is your 
mother?” Mrs. Lasure asked, with a dignified, ques- 
tioning look. 

The young lady colored slightly and replied: 

“Pray excuse me for not introducing myself, but 
we see so many people that we sometimes forget 
that they may not know us as well as we know 
them." 

Mrs. Lasure was annoyed at the insinuation, and 
thought of the offensive familiarity of the mother. 
Then returning to the suggestion of lunch, she said: 

“Please send me some crackers, lemons, sugar, 
and water — nothing more.” 

At a suggestion of having the lemonade prepared, 
she replied: 

“Excuse me, but I prefer to prepare it myself. 
The medicine I do not need. Pray say nothing to 
Doctor Hull in regard to it.” 

There was a dignity in her manner which forbade 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


45 


familiarity, and a positiveness in the arrangements 
which said, “That’s all, you are dismissed” — and 
the young lady retired, feeling that for once she was 
mistaken in her opponent, had handled her cards 
badly, and was beaten in the game. 

Soon there came a light tap at the door, and a 
servant entered and placed a tray containing the de- 
sired articles, with the addition of some delicious 
oranges, upon a small table near the door, and then, 
lifting the table, she placed it by the side of Mrs. 
Lasure. She then added in a decidedly foreign 
accent: 

“Well, mum, beze there anything else I can be 
doing for yeze?" and, being ^assured that was all, 
with a stupid smile and an awkward courtesy, she 
retired from the room. 

Mrs. Lasure drew the stand in front of her and 
commenced preparing the lemonade. But her 
thoughts were busy. Every word that Montpier had 
spoken in their last interview she remembered dis- 
tinctly — fully comprehended their import, and de- 
cided to be governed thereby. Her own domestic 
infelicities, the deceit she had practiced, the differ- 
ent casts of character which circumstances had 
forced her to assume in accomplishing her purposes 
and their varied effects upon herself and others, al- 
though a reprehensible sort of “black art” in do- 
mestic life, were now experiences of value to her, 


4 6 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


as she thus knew all the "tricks of the trade.” She 
saw that Doctor Hull and the daughter were assum- 
ing to know all they wished to ascertain by throwing 
her off her guard, as it would have been the most 
natural thing in the world for Montpier to have 
told them all when committing her to their care; 
and the patronizing way in which they had looked 
after her comfort, their fawning manner, which 
seemed to say, "Yes, poor thing, we know” — was 
unendurable, and she decided to freeze them out. 
She had now finished her lunch, but she did not 
touch the oranges, although they looked very tempt- 
ing. They must understand that she would not be 
dictated to. When she wanted oranges she would 
call for them. She pushed the table aside, rang the 
bell, and when the servant came, said: 

"I am going out. I wish my room in readiness 
when I return." Then, turning away, she put on 
her hat and left the house. 

The afternoon proved as pleasant as the morning 
had been, and, following a little path which she ob- 
served at the side of the lawn, she soon found her- 
self in a grove of various trees which stretched away 
toward the hills. Still following the trail, she 
passed into the grove, and, at no great distance, it 
reached a declivity, where it wound in a zigzag man- 
ner down to a small stream which babbled contin- 
ually as it hurried along over the white pebbles, 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


47 


caressing the mosses and ferns [which reached out 
to it from the verdant banks. The path now turned 
and followed the stream for quite a distance, and 
then terminated at a rustic bridge. This she crossed 
and found herself in a small vestibule or entrance 
to quite a large grotto. These walls were not nearly 
as high as the roof of the grotto, which seemed to 
consist of one immense projecting rock. Time, 
nature’s great artist, had wrought pictures of beauty 
all over its rugged face, of her finest tapestry in 
moss and fern and flowers, with a fringe of vines 
along the lower edge, or cornice. A skylight was 
formed by the opening between the walls of the 
vestibule and the high roof of the grotto. She went 
inside where the light streamed in, illuminating the 
central portions of the room. But the remote parts, 
with their uneven walls, which resembled niches 
and rugged pillars, suggested secret doors and pas- 
sages and all sorts of uncanny things among their 
indistinct shadows, while the swinging vines de- 
pending from the high eves made dancing forms on 
the rude floor. 

There were some rustic seats in different parts of 
the cave, damp and flecked with mildew, while a 
projecting rock one side of the entrance served for 
a broad shelf or table. Some birds, disturbed by 
the intrusion, disappeared through the skylight, as 
she entered. A slight rustling among the dead 


4 8 


THE KODAK WOMAN* 


leaves of last year attracted her attention, and, look- 
ing in the direction, she saw a fat, sleepy toad wink- 
ing his eyes slowly and breathing heavily, as 
though the effort of waking up had been too much 
for him. Aside from this, utter silence reigned. 

It was near sunset before she thought of return- 
ing. Outside the birds twittered in the tree branches, 
a cricket chirruped in the low grass, while the brook 
babbled musically onward. The shadows were deep- 
ening in the corners of the grotto, and the wind, 
which had been freshening for some time, sounded 
strangely as it crept in at the lofty opening, fitfully 
shaking the vines, then wandering about the cave, 
moaning and stirring the brown leaves like a thing 
of life. With a little shiver, Mrs. Lasure went out- 
side into the fresh air and over the rustic bridge. 
She now saw a heavy bank of clouds in the west, 
and there was every indication of a coming storm. 
Hastily she began to retrace her steps, thinking 
that she had no time to spare if she would avoid 
the gale. The way seemed much longer than when 
she came, but, although there was occasionally a 
flash of lightning and a low, distant rumble of thun- 
der, still she reached home some time before the 
rain fell. She was shown to her room, which was 
up one flight of stairs and in the front of the build- 
ing, and, like all the other rooms which she had 
seen, plainly furnished. It had no clothes-closet 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


49 


connected with it, but she had one assigned for 
her use at the farther end of the hall, and into 
which it opened. 

There was a dreariness about the whole place 
which was .oppressive — so unlike her own elegant 
home. She heard voices in low conversation on 
the opposite side of the hall, and presumed they 
were patients or boarders at “The Shelter. " She 
excused herself from supper on account of her late 
lunch. 

The lightning had become more frequent, and 
occasionally an intense glare and crashing thunder 
peal announced the coming of the storm. The 
blinds were open, and Mrs. Lasure, putting back 
the curtains, sat down by the window and looked 
out. Daylight was fading and the rain began to 
fall. It was great, scattering drops at first, which 
rattled on the leaves and windows like hailstones. 
But presently it began to pour in torrents, with 
quickly succeeding lightning flashes and incessant 
roar of thunder. She sat still, for she liked this 
warring of the elements outside. It was a change 
from the monotonous dullness of the house. Besides, 
the storm was in keeping with her thoughts. It 
was a grim satisfaction to know that even the ele- 
ments of nature could not always be at peace. At 
times that contact with each other, although appar- 
ently harmonious, resulted in upheaval and destruc- 


50 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


tion for a season. But this very turbulence was the 
means of purifying the atmosphere, exhausting the 
clouds, dissipating the fog, and refreshing the earth; 
and, when the morning sun looked down, peace 
and beauty smiled where, last night, stormy clouds 
and darkness reigned. She sat still a long time, 
wondering if her night of perplexity and despair 
would ever cease and the sun of tranquil happiness 
shine once more in her starless sky. 

The violence of the storm was now over, but a 
steady rain and a constant dripping from the eaves 
continued through the night. The wind had changed 
and veered to the northwest. A great tree stood near 
the house, and the gale commenced rioting among 
its branches, and there was a low tap-tap beneath 
the window. Mrs. Lasure started, but, instantly 
comprehending the situation, she said to herself, 
"It’s only the tree branches against the house,” 
and dismissed it from her mind. Presently there 
was a rasping sound like the tuning of musical 
strings. 

"It’s only the wind,” she said, and her thoughts 
ran back into the old channel. "I do wonder if I 
shall ever be happy again.” 

Just then a low, muffled sound like a suppressed 
groan came from that side of the house. She sprang 
to her feet and listened. 

"What a coward I am!” she said. "The wind is 


THE KODAK TOMAN 


51 


only talking to itself. But it must have thoughts 
like my own. I will make friends with it. Why 
should I be afraid? I need its sympathy.” And, as 
if in response, a weird note, like a cadence in mu- 
sic, came to her ears. 

“Don’t you see?” she said to herself. “It knows 
and pities me.” 

Again all was still, and she had nearly forgotten 
her invisible comrade, when, simultaneously, she 
heard his rush among the leafy boughs, and a con- 
fused mingling of various notes, as though all the 
chords of harmony were quivering beneath the clash 
of angry hands; and then it subsided in a long, low 
moan and instantly she heard his fleeing footsteps 
among the distant trees. 

“I envy the wind," she thought, “for it sobs out 
its grief and then unfettered it can fly to other 
scenes.” She arose and walked the room until fi- 
nally, exhausted, she retired for the night, and, after 
a long while, fell into an unquiet slumber. 


CHAPTER III. 


In the morning, Mrs. Lasure arose feeling but 
slightly refreshed, yet she decided to take her meals 
in the dining room, and consequently answered the 
summons for breakfast. She found quite a number 
of persons present, and, after a somewhat informal 
introduction, they all took seats at the table. Mr. 
Hull carved, and the Doctor presided over the 
coffee urn and the conversation. She chattered in 
the same disagreeable, familiar manner that had an- 
noyed Mrs. Lasure at their first interview. She 
was particularly attentive to a rather sweet-faced, 
attractive lady whom she addressed as Mrs. Coy, 
and who apparently was a patient in the institution. 

Mr. Hull was a plain, intelligent appearing 
man, but with an air of uncertainty in all his do- 
ings, which is the outgrowth of continual criticism, 
repression, and belittling, which in common par- 
lance is known as being “sat on.” He never joined 
in conversation unless addressed, and then answered 
in an intelligent, practical way, but with hesitation 
in his manner, and a glance at his wife which seemed 

52 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


53 


to say, "Is that all right?” The daughter was there, 
with all her mother’s characteristics clearly defined. 

The meal was plain, but well prepared, and, di- 
verted from herself by the surroundings, Mrs. Las- 
ure found her appetite much improved, and ate her 
breakfast with decided relish. Several people were 
at the table, but the guarded manner in which all 
expressed themselves, each, with common consent, 
avoiding personalities or definite reference to the 
other, convinced Mrs. Lasure that peculiar circum- 
stances, or peculiar diseases, had brought them to- 
gether, and 

"All joined to guard what each desired to gain,” 
namely, entire secrecy with regard to themselves 
and their affairs. At this discovery she experienced a 
sort of relief — feeling sure that there would be no pry- 
ing intrusion into her past history, and an inter- 
course to some extent under these circumstances, 
with these people, would be more endurable than 
the solitariness to which she had doomed herself 
until now. 

There was a mutual attraction between Mrs. Coy 
and herself, both feeling that, under the acknowl- 
edged law of absolute silence in regard to the past, 
they might freely enjoy each other’s society. As 
they passed out into the hall, Mrs. Coy, offering her 
hand, said: 


54 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


"Excuse me, but I did not quite get your name 
at the introduction. But as we room on the same 
floor, I presume we may be able to help each other 
in passing pleasantly the long, monotonous days 
which must be tedious at such an institution." 

They had now reached the hall above, and Mrs. 
Coy continued: "There is a music-room here, and 
pushing open the door, they entered. It was a 
room of medium size, containing an old-fashioned 
piano, a well filled bookcase, a table with every- 
thing necessary for correspondence, and a number 
of easy chairs. The same dark drapery shadowed 
the windows, but now it was lopped, back and the win- 
dows had been thrown open to the sunlight of a 
beautiful day. The fragrance of flowers floated in 
as Morning swung her censer, filled with the per- 
fume of all nature, fresh from her late baptismal 
showers. 

“I presume you play," suggested Mrs. Coy, "and 
I do hope you sing, and will make me happy by 
doing so." 

Mrs. Lasure smiled at her hearty and unassuming 
manner as she replied: 

"Sometimes I try to do both, but fear I am out 
of practice at present." 

"Well, I can assure you of a most appreciative 
and indulgent audience"— and taking Mrs. Lasure’s 
arm, she led her to the piano where, sitting down. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


55 


she placed her fingers upon the keys and passed 
them rapidly up and down the scales. Then, drop- 
ping her hands to her side, Mrs. Lasure looked at 
the instrument quite perplexed. Mrs. Coy laughed, 
saying: 

"It is not quite perfect, and you will have to keep 
it well under control, as you would a fractious horse, 
or it will become a destroyer instead of an aid to 
harmony. But I think you can handle it." 

"What shall I sing?" queried Mrs. Lasure, as she 
softly touched the keys, producing little ripples of 
melody and sweetness. 

Mrs. Coy sat by the window, musing. 

"O, anything," she said. 

"But I don’t know it,” laughed Mrs. Lasure. 

"Well, then, ‘’Way down upon the Swanee river,’" 
she added. "Everybody knows that," joining in 
the laugh,— and, with a voice clear and sweet, Mrs. 
Lasure sang that old plantation melody which em- 
bodied so much of the homesick longing. When 
she ceased, the room was still, and, fearing to look 
around at Mrs. Coy, she idly toyed with the keys 
for a moment, when incidentally she struck a chord 
which suggested "Annie Laurie." She struck the 
keys again, and that song that belongs to all lands 
and finds a response in all hearts filled the room 
with its melody like a paean of exultant joy as she 
sang : 


55 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


“Maxwelton’s braes are bonny 
Where early fa’s the dew, 

And ’twas there that Annie Laurie 
Gied me her promise true.” 

But Mrs. Lasure had counted without her host. 
Her voice trembled, her eyes filled, and the beating 
of her heart almost choked her utterance, but she 
dared not yield to these emotions — she must not. 
She struggled on only for an instant, and the crisis 
was past. Then clear as silver horn, with voice 
stronger than at first, she proceeded, until with a 
kind of triumphant ecstasy, she reached the climax: 

'And for bonny Annie Laurie, 

I’d lay me down and dee.” 

As the last strains died away, she looked around, 
but she was alone, Mrs. Coy having quietly left the 
room before the song had ended. And now, with 
all restraint gone, and with tears in her eyes and a 
huskiness in her voice, Mrs. Lasure whispered, 
“Thank God, I am alone.” She immediately retired 
to her room, and, overcome with weariness and 
varied emotions, she threw herself upon the bed and 
soon fell asleep. 

It was almost the dinner hour when she awoke, 
but she was refreshed; and, rising, she arranged 
her toilet, and very soon the bell rang for dinner. 
As she entered the hall, the first person she met 
wa« Mrs. Coy, who greeted her pleasantly, and they 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


57 


passed down the stairs together; but there was no 
reference to the events of the morning, and it never 
afterward was mentioned. In the afternoon Mrs. 
Lasure went down to the postoffice. Of course she 
expected no mail, and yet, when she received none, 
she felt disappointed, a sort of severing of the last 
link which connected her to the old life. Returning 
slowly to the institution, she did not enter, but took 
a path which led in another direction from the one 
she had followed yesterday. She came to a wooded 
slope where there were rocky bluffs crowned with 
berry bushes white with blossoms. She sat down 
on a projecting stone, removed her hat, and pushed 
back the short curls from her forehead. She was in 
the shadow of a thorn tree, but the sunshine fell 
through the openings of the scanty forest. The 
birds hopped about in the bushes and sang little 
roundelays of nesting songs as they fed their young. 
The mosses and ferns were soft beneath her feet, 
and all nature seemed full of quiet music, beauty 
and peace. Her old life seemed so far away. The 
great city, with its booming traffic, its distant 
muffled roar, which, like -the ocean’s undertow, 
never ceases, and yet is never heard unless we lis- 
ten for it; her friends, with all their gaiety, and the 
enchantment of city life; her own home, with its 
elegance and its comforts; her husband and her 
children, with all they should have been to her — $U 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


58 

were gone. Like a shifting panorama, they had 
passed by, going on and on out into the years, while 
she had dropped out of the procession and was left 
amid the present strange and uncongenial sur- 
roundings. 

The days grew into weeks, but Mrs. Lasure re- 
mained at "The Shelter." She went frequently 
to the postoffice, but seldom obtained any mail. 
Once, in the early part of her stay, she received a 
letter from Montpier. It ran thus: 

"My Dear Friend: 

"I had hoped to come and see you frequently; and 
believe me when I say that the impossibility of do- 
ing so is one of the greatest disappointments of my 
life. But the Fates, or whatever handles destiny, 
have made it imperative for me to go immediately 
to Scotland. Sometimes I fear that you may be un- 
happy where you are, and in this regard I blame 
myself for recommending the place; but it seemed 
the only thing to do at the time. But do not forget 
my instructions, or fail to be guided thereby, and I 
believe all will be well. When the kaleidoscope of 
human affairs has reached its worst combination, 
the next change must be for the better. Keep this 
always in mind, and it will bring hope under the 
most unfortunate circumstances. 

"I cannot be with you except in thought before I 
go. How long I shall remain is not yet decided; but 
if at any time you need my presence or assistance 
in any way, you have but to advise me of the fact, 
and your wish shall be my law. But I must say 
farewell, and do not think it costs me not an effort. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


59 


May the destiny which sends me away bring to you 
something better in return and keep us both safely 
until we meet again. 

"With changeless devotion, I am 
"Sincerely your friend, 

“Montpier.” 

His foreign address followed, and the letter was 
finished. A few days afterward, Mrs. Lasure received 
another letter containing a New York draft for $50. 
There was no note accompanying it. The handwrit- 
ing as well as the signature was unknown to her. 
These were the only communications she had re- 
ceived through the mail, but she had become some- 
what in harmony with her environments. It was 
summer, and the weather was delightful, while she 
almost lived out of doors. She visited the grotto 
frequently, but she found cozy nooks in the wood- 
land which suited her better. Here she would sit 
for hours, reading or making wreaths of evergreens, 
and bunching wild flowers for her room. The birds 
came to know her and seldom left their nests at her 
approach. They eyed her curiously, turning their 
heads from side to side as she scattered crumbs 
near their haunts. They flew down on the low 
branches and hopped about with queer little nods 
and chirrups, to make her acquaintance. They sang 
their sweetest songs and trilled and warbled till 
every wing and feather quivered with ecstasy. They 
seemed to understand that her presence meant a feast 


6o 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


for them, and when, after an absence of a few days, 
she returned, it was quite wonderful how impercep- 
tibly yet quickly her feathered friends flocked to the 
low branches and twittered and fluttered and peeped 
about, exchanging compliments and congratulations 
at her return. 

One morning Mr. Hull did not appear at break- 
fast, and his wife said that he was not feeling well. 
But no questions were asked. On the way to their 
rooms, Mrs. Coy told Mrs. Lasure that Mr. Hull 
had an attack of neuralgia in his head and face, but 
was not confined to his room. A few days passed, 
when one morning, as Mrs. Lasure came out of her 
room, she observed several strangers in the hall and 
also an unusual excitement about the house. Mrs. 
Coy informed her that Mr. Hull was found dead in 
his bed that morning, and a coroner had arrived and 
impaneled a jury pending an autopsy on the body. 
His sudden death was without any apparent cause, 
and Mrs. Coy added that the neighbors were acting 
very unkindly in the matter, blaming his wife, as 
she had been his physician and had put chloroform 
on his face to allay the pain, and happened to leave 
the bottle by his bedside. She had also given mor- 
phine to induce sleep. 

Mrs. Lasure heard all, but said nothing. The 
whole town, as well as “The Shelter,” was in a state 
of excitement. Doctor Hull’s conduct toward her 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


6l 


husband, who was now dead, had always been unfor- 
tunate as far as her own reputation was concerned. 
Some years previous there had been a public scandal 
in regard to herself and a man of some wealth and 
prominence. In fact, gossip, which usually means 
public opinion, frequently had her name connected 
in liaison with different individuals. An inordinate 
love of money seemed to play a conspicuous part in 
these transactions, which always terminated in a 
supply of funds for herself and a malodorous reputa- 
tion for both. In some instances, where ready cash 
was not forthcoming, fine horses exchanged hands, 
and so events swung down the years. Besides, it 
seemed to be a well known fact that in her own im- 
mediate family a coldness amounting to entire es- 
trangement had intervened, on account of some 
crooked work along lines in which the Doctor was 
becoming rapidly and unenviably conspicuous. 

But on the present occasion — the death of her hus- 
band — Doctor Hull showed great deliberation and 
calmness in the midst of it all. She proceeded with 
everything in a very business-like manner. The 
meals were all in readiness, and the comfort of the 
inmates of the institution attended to. Had the trag- 
edy been rehearsed for the occasion, it could not 
have passed off more smoothly. To be sure, she 
shed floods of tears, but they were never out of sea- 
son, and did not in the least interfere with her at- 


62 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


tending to the minutiae of everything. She seemed 
almost omnipresent in her vigilance. Her face and 
form might be expected at any time or at any place 
when needed. She scattered little knots of whis- 
perers suddenly by her unlooked for presence in 
their midst. She had an excuse for everything 
which had happened, and often explained away a 
suspicious circumstance before it had defined itself 
in any mind except her own. She bewildered every 
one with her alertness and dexterity. 

It was late in the afternoon before the autopsy 
was completed. Every organ in the body was found 
to have been in a surprisingly perfect state of health, 
there being no abnormal conditions to induce irreg- 
ularity of action in any part. No mineral poisons 
were present, and as chloroform and morphine had 
been used, but cannot be detected, and as the chlo- 
roform was left within his reach during the night, 
and the Doctor thought the bottle contained less in 
the morning than when she left it in the evening, 
there was but one verdict to render, which was, 
“Determining cause of death unknown." 

It is a peculiar philosophical fact that a great 
crime often is divested of its apparent enormity by 
the attending circumstances. The community is 
shocked at first, but the deed is done, and imme- 
diately the interest is diverted from the horror of the 
transaction to the sequel. It becomes a sort of 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


63 


tragic play, and they watch the actors, wondering 
what next in the drama will be put upon the stage. 
There is no quiet solemnity of the death chamber, 
no mournful leave-taking at the funeral, which im- 
press the spectator. This is gone through with be- 
cause it is on the bill and must be cleared off the 
stage before the more exciting acts are rendered. 

The whole community are agape with expectation. 
“What next?” is the question which fills every mind 
and bates the breath of every listener. There is a 
definite all-pervading belief in the perpetration of 
a crime which brought a fellow being to an untimely 
end, and there is no reasonable cause of such death 
without the commission of said crime. All the cir- 
cumstances point to one and the same individual as 
the perpetrator of the act. It needs nothing to com- 
plete the testimony, and there is nothing to rebut 
or gainsay it. But circumstances have no voice. 
They are silent. The blackest deeds are done in 
the darkest nights, and in the morning they lift their 
ensanguined hands toward the light and with stony 
eyes and unerring finger point forever toward the 
guilty; but their lips are dumb, and there is none 
other to tell the tale. None saw the deadly struggle 
when the invisible spirit of the poisonous drug 
slowly crept along the nerves and entered the un- 
suspecting brain, then, tingling through every part, 
lay hold of the stalwart form, and for the first time 


6 4 


THE KODAF. WOMAN 


he feels the danger. He is growing numb. He 
tries to awake, but an awful nightmare holds him 
in its embrace. He struggles, but his body has 
ceased to resist. The beaded drops stand on his 
brow, while terror like a fiend haunts him as he 
struggles on and on but in vain. He gurgles and 
gasps, and the work is finished. 

The autopsy was not completed until late in the 
afternoon, and the jury retired to make out the ver- 
dict. Mrs. Lasure had remained in her room most 
of the day, and Mrs. Coy, assuming that the occa- 
sion would warrant almost any intrusion, made sev- 
eral flying visits to her apartment. The subject of 
conversation, naturally, was the death of Mr. Hull 
and the circumstances pertaining thereto. 

“They say,” proceeded Mrs. Coy, “that the son 
will not be present at the funeral of his father, as 
he left home clandestinely to avoid an examination 
in reference to some counterfeit money. His mother 
was implicated in the matter, and is supposed to be 
the only person who has any knowledge of his where- 
abouts. ” 

Mrs. Lasure listened to all thaf was said, but 
took little part in the conversation. In the evening, 
Mrs. Coy, all excitement, fluttered in again with 
the information that the jury would soon render 
their verdict, adding, “And I do wonder what it 
will be.” And, unable to keep quiet, she walked 


THE KODAK WOMAN 65 

uneasily about the room for a few moments and 
then fluttered out again. 

Mrs. Lasure, worn out with the excitement and 
a vague, indescribable dread of the place, determined 
to seek oblivion in sleep, and, locking her door, 
she retired for the night. But she could not sleep, 
and for several hours tossed about with a nervous 
depression which was only getting worse in her 
efforts to lie quiet. 

“I can endure this no longer,” she said. “I will 
get up and sit by the window. The moon and stars 
will comfort me. God is out there, but in this house 
only evil seems to reign. ” 

She dressed, raised the window, and sat down. 
The night was delightful, and she breathed more 
freely as the fragrant breath of summer -Wandered in. 
The crickets sang in the grass, and a mother bird 
twittered softly as she covered and coddled her nest- 
ling brood. But the air was cool, and she rose to 
get her shawl, which she did not find. 

"O, I remember, it is in the closet.” And, softly 
opening the door, she looked out. There was a 
light in the hall, and, with a noiseless tread, she 
hastily went out for the wrap. She quickly slipped 
inside and partly closed the door, for she observed 
in the adjoining room a light which shone through 
the door ajar, and there were voices in low conver- 
sation inside. Her heart beat fast, and she dared 


66 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


not stir from her hiding place, lest she should be 
observed. 

“But what do you think of the jury’s verdict?” was 
asked in a subdued tone. 

“O, it was the only thing to be done. The facts 
seemed clear enough, but there was no positive 
proof. They simply waived the responsibility of 
any decision by saying ‘unknown.’ So every one is 
at liberty to think as they please, as the jury are the 
only ones who are supposed to know all the cir- 
cumstances which could be brought to bear upon 
the case; and the verdict simply means that the 
suspicions have not been removed by their investi- 
gation. ” 

“But, Professor, were you present when Doctor 
Hull came in at the autopsy this afternoon?” asked 
another voice in an undertone. 

The Professor answered in the negative. 

“Well, then, you missed Satan’s climax of hide- 
ousness. May the ghost of Hamlet protect me while 
I tell it. She came and asked for her husband’s 
heart. Do you understand? — his heart! It was 
given her, and taking it, all dripping with gore, 
she squeezed the moisture out and then commenced 
a treatise on heart disease, with that to illustrate 
the subject. I was petrified. My hair literally stood 
on end. My flesh crawled. A choking sensation 
was in my throat. Shades of the Infernal! I 
thought. 



She asked for her husband’s heart. It was given her.— Page 66. 


68 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


“ ‘What art thou? — phantom, fiend or devil? 

And in what region dost thou dwell? 

Art thou a conjurer of all things evil? 

Is thine abode, thy dwelling-place, in hell?' 

“But I will not talk about it. I shall never get 
over the sensation. Language cannot describe it. 
It made me shiver a cold, clammy shiver, and I feel 
as though I should never be warm again.” 

Here they whispered a moment, and Mrs. Lasure 
crept cautiously back to her room. Her mind was 
filled with what she had heard. The moon was 
setting, and its disk lay almost on a level with the 
horizon, while, cold and pale, its rays made long, 
spectral images of the intervening trees. She looked 
toward the grove. The night winds soughed and 
sobbed, moving the foliage, whose shadows formed 
black images beneath the branches. It seemed to 
her that since she left the room, the angels had de- 
parted from the earth, and the grounds and groves 
belonging to “The Shelter” were given up to riot- 
ing, impish sprites, who now held high carnival. It 
was a sort of unconscious fascination which held 
her gaze as she continued to look toward the grove. 
But what was that? Was it a human form moving 
among the trees? It must be, for it took the path 
which led toward the highway, and for a moment it 
emerged into the ghastly, fading moonlight. It 
seemed to be a woman’s form, tall, spectral, and it 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


69 


passed out of sight. With a shudder she closed the 
window, saying, “Only some one going home this 
late, perhaps, from here. But I’m nervous and must 
rest.” And she retired, to again experiment with 
sleep. 

Morning came with faint rose-colored tints at 
dawning. Just one more waking of birds and bees 
and blossoms; just one more chime of matin bells, 
set to nature’s ceaseless harmony. Earth’s new day, 
born from God’s exhaustless treasury and going 
forth to comfort, bless and beautify a rejoicing 
world. 

Mrs. Lasure arose, fee ling in better spirits than 
she could have expected, in view of her experience 
the previous evening, while the brightness of the 
morning dissipated the gloomy specters of the night 
before. The breakfast was in season, and the tur- 
moil of the previous day had subsided, and quietly 
preparations for the funeral were being completed. 
After the meal was over, Mrs. Lasure returned to 
her room, undecided in regard to her arrangements 
for the day. Suddenly she thought of the grotto. 
It had been several days since she had visited it. 
But still, as she thought of its weird surroundings 
and suggestions, she said mentally, “I don’t think I 
care to go there now,” and, putting on her hat, she 
decided to visit the bird nooks in the forest. 

"It will be pleasant there, and I like their com- 


70 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


pany. Nothing spooky about my birds. Besides, 
I believe they have been neglected.” 

She took the walk out to the path, where, if she 
followed in one direction, it led to the forest, and 
in the other it intersected at no great distance with 
the trail to the grotto. Here she paused. Her in- 
clination was for the wooded upland, with its birds 
and flowers and sunshine; but an impression that 
she could not shake off continually suggested the 
grotto; and she turned and went in that direction. 
She sauntered slowly along, not quite satisfied with 
the decision that was bringing her to that uncanny 
place, and, as she reached the spot where the path 
turned and followed down the stream, she hesitated 
and had a mind to turn back. 

“But I won’t do that, as I am so near; but I need 
not cross the bridge, and shall not enter the grotto. ” 
And with this decision a load seemed lifted from 
her mind, and she went more cheerfully forward. 

Notwithstanding her resolution to the contrary, 
when Mrs. Lasure reached the bridge she crossed 
over and stood looking at the bluff beside the cave, 
where a recent storm had ploughed many seams and 
furrows and the fresh dirt declared the havoc it had 
made. Presently she heard footsteps, and, looking 
toward the entrance of the grotto, she saw a woman 
emerging from the place, whose general contour in- 
stantly declared her to be the last night’s specter of 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


71 


the grove. Mrs. Lasure screamed with terror, and 
would have fallen had not the apparition caught her 
and carried her inside and placed her on a seat. 
Mrs. Lasure now identified her as the “kodak 
woman, ” and her terror was changed to unspeakab le 
joy at the discovery, and she exclaimed: 

“O, I am so glad that you have come from the 
world, out of which I have been lost so long. How 
do they fare?” she asked, without mentioning any 
names. 

“What do you care?” the stranger replied iron- 
ically. 

Mrs. Lasure was deeply humiliated; and, taking 
the woman’s hand in both of hers, she pressed it to 
her heart and lips and sobbed in broken accents: 

“I deserve it all. Kill me if you will; I shall not 
resist. ” 

It was enough. The woman put her arms around 
her and drew her close to herself, saying: 

“Poor child, it is sometimes hard to reap as we 
have sown, and revenge has no sweetness." 

“But with it all I have kept my integrity,” replied 
Mrs. Lasure. 

“Yes, I know, for fate ofttimes saves us from our- 
selves, when we can be no longer trusted.” 

Mrs. Lasure smarted under this well-deserved re- 
buke, but she said pleadingly: 

“Tell me of my family. I cannot wait.” 


72 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


The stranger replied: “It is well with the chil- 
dren, for God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. 
He cares for the fatherless, and he cradles the moth- 
erless in his arms.” 

How glad she was to hear this, although there 
was a grave rebuke in every word! She dared not 
ask about her husband, for she was sure his name 
had been purposely left out. 

“Do they miss me?” she asked timidly. 

“You can answer that question better than I.” 
And with a retrospect that was humiliating and ag- 
onizing, Mrs. Lasure remembered that they had 
never been made happier by her presence. It seemed 
at times that this picture of herself created within 
her such a loathing, such self-abasement, and such 
distrust of her every effort to reform, that she was 
overwhelmed and powerless to confront the situa- 
tion. 

They sat in silence for a little, the mother with a 
hungry longing in her heart and eyes, to learn more 
of her family; the woman simply waiting. At last 
Mrs. Lasure, overcome with suspense, said with 
tears filling her eyes: 

“O, please do tell me what I shall do.” 

“What do you want to do?” was the cool re- 
sponse. 

“I want to go back and have my home and my 
family once more.” 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


7*3 


Her companion turned to her and said, “I sup- 
pose you know that when Mr. Belmont died, your 
husband ceased to have the income which he had 
received during his life. It will take Mr. Lasure 
a long time to secure as large an income by his reg- 
ular practice. The necessities of your family must 
be met, and evidently there will be little to spare 
after that. How will you get money to keep up with 
the 'swell set’ to which you belong?” 

This was the keenest, crudest thrust of all. Mrs. 
Lasure did not attempt to reply, but, crouching 
down at the feet of the woman, the whole of her 
misguided and wasted life came before her, and she 
sobbed and writhed in an agony of grief that was 
pitiful to behold. Her companion could endure it 
no longer, and, tenderly lifting the limp form to a 
seat by her side, she said, as she caressed her face 
with her soft hand: 

“There, little one, don’t grieve any more. God 
forgives, and why shall not man? But we must see 
the rock on which we foundered, or how shall we 
avoid it in the future? But it is all past, and I 
think you can be trusted.” 

“And can I go home?” she asked, between her 
sobs. 

“I think so, but I must go and see,” was the 
reply. 

Mrs. Lasure looked disappointed, and continued: 
“Cannot I go with you?” 


74 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


"I had to know whether you wished to come first, 
you see, and now, when I get the other question 
decided, then I will let you hear from me." 

Mrs. Lasure did not ask what the other question 
was. Too well — too well she knew; and her heart 
sank as she thought what the answer might be. 

“You will not keep me waiting very long?” she 
queried. 

The woman pitied her as she looked into her 
tear-stained, anxious countenance, and, taking the 
sad face between her hands, she kissed her sympa- 
thetically and added: 

“I am quite sure it will be all right, and, if you 
will only try to be patient and get back your own 
sweet self once more, and also try to be courageous 
to face the changed conditions, you may all be happy 
again.” 

“I will try, indeed I will," she sobbed, pressing 
the hand she was holding. 

The visitor arose and, still holding Mrs. Lasure 
by the hand, they went out to the entrance of the 
cave, where the woman said: 

“Now you must leave me just where you found 
me; and may God bless and keep you.” And they 
unclasped their hands. The woman turned back to 
the grotto, and Mrs. Lasure, with a subdued and 
chastened pleasure, returned to her boarding place. 

As soon as she had passed from sight, the stranger 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


75 


left the cave and hastened to the village, where she 
took the return stage for the depot, and the next 
morning found her in New York. 

The funeral of Mr. Hull was over, and "The 
Shelter” relapsed into its usual quiet routine. In 
fact, there was more quiet than usual. The verdict 
of the jury at the autopsy had only strengthened the 
suspicion which still prevailed, and already its in- 
fluence was being felt; and "The Shelter” came to 
occupy about the same position as a haunted house 
in a . deserted neighborhood. Therefore it soon 
transpired that very few people were seen about the 
place except those who belonged there. The patients 
who were there at the time of Mr. Hull’s death 
made it convenient as soon as possible to return to 
their homes, and few new ones took their place. 

This condition of things soon became a serious 
problem to Doctor Hull. Almost her entire property 
was invested in the building, and with its small 
patronage, it was impossible to pay running ex- 
penses. Besides, Doctor Hull was a very ambitious 
woman, and endeavored to "run” the town as well 
as "The Shelter.” Hitherto, the style she sim- 
ulated, together with her obtrusiveness, had forced 
recognition. But now things had changed; and to 
be totally ignored, although in a quiet way. was not 
only humiliating but exasperating. She always kept 
a fine turn-out, and the best people, according to 


?6 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


society’s gauge, had accepted her invitation to take 
a drive. And she had liberally scattered favors of 
this kind through the upper-tendom of the town. 
But it was surprising what a number of imperative 
or unfortunate circumstances had suddenly developed 
in the community. Previous engagements, domestic 
duties, and sick -headaches had become alarmingly 
prevalent, and no one in her old set was able to 
accept her invitations. So she concluded to console 
herself for this sudden, unexampled state of affairs by 
condescending to a class she had always considered 
lower in the social scale; but, with the wicked 
perversity of human nature, they seemed to take de- 
light in “snubbing” her now, as she had them in 
the past. 

Social failure was not the only disaster imminent. 
Her finances were getting into an equally unsatis- 
factory condition, and it was certain that something 
must be done. So she formed a partnership with a 
wandering apostle of ^Bsculapius, and as he went 
about the country healing the people, those whose 
infirmities did not yield to his treatment he advised 
very earnestly to try “The Shelter” as a last resort. 
But the reputation of the institution had become 
such that only those who sought a “last resort” ven- 
tured within its walls. 

Such was the condition of affairs when one morn- 
ing Mrs. Lasure announced her determination to re- 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


77 


turn to New York that day. Then she went to the 
postoffice to make sure that no communication was 
awaiting her there, and also to order the stage to 
call for her at “The Shelter.” It came soon after, 
and she went out from that strange, detested place 
with a feeling of intense relief, never to enter its 
doors again, for she read soon after in a newspaper 
article that “The Shelter” had been destroyed by fire; 
and, without speculating upon the circumstance, 
Mrs. Lasure felt thankful that it stood there no 
longer, a trap for the innocent or a menace to pub- 
lic morals. 


CHAPTER IV. 


When Montpier left “The Shelter” his desire was 
to reach New York as soon as possible. Taking the 
return stage, he arrived at the depot in time for the 
evening train. The telegram he received in the 
morning had been very indefinite, but imperative. 
It read: 

“Come to New York. The will is being contested. 
You understand. ” 

A circumstance which occurred the previous even- 
ing he had not been able to banish from his mind. 
As he entered the Central Depot with Mrs. Lasure, 
a woman in black rose from a seat near by, looking 
with gleaming eyes through her veil at them for a 
moment, and then turned and went out in an op- 
posite direction. Unaccountably she and the tele- 
gram were inseparable in his thoughts. He felt at 
this moment that he was returning to the city by 
the dictation of one he dared not disobey, and whose 
strange but resistless influence he could not escape. 

It was early morning when the train drew in at 
the depot, but he had scarcely reached his lodgings 
when a messenger brought the following note: 

78 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


79 


“Meet me at the clock tower in the Park this p. 
m. at two o’clock. Don’t fail.” 

“I’m worn out with this uncertainty,” he said. 
"When will it cease?” 

He sat down wearily and leaned his head on his 
hand. Suddenly he started up. His eyes flashed, 
and, bringing his clenched fist down upon the table, 
he said, “Yes, curse her! I know it’s she! Why 
in the name of hell’s torments is she dogging my 
footsteps? I’ll strangle her,” he added savagely, 
"and pitch her off the bluff at the foot of the tower. ” 

This decision seemed to relieve his feelings, and 
he sat down at his desk to look over his mail. There 
was little of it, and nothing of interest. It was only 
last evening that he left this room, but it seemed 
an age — an age of intensity and warring conditions. 
There had been moments of tenderest endearments 
and of 'sacred confidence— moments which changed 
lives, so that they could never again be the same to 
each other. There had been situations which de- 
manded shrewdness and quick, adroit planning. 
There had been a sudden and unexpected parting 
with one that always possessed a fascination for 
him, and whom in his heart he found he did, to 
some extent, really love, but could never possess 
without the sacrifice of principles which only could 
make their affection pure and abiding. But he had 
ieft her who had put her destiny without reserve in 


8o 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


his keeping — left her to the machinations and de- 
vices of the only person whom he ever knew that 
had not a spark of virtue or uprightness remaining 
in an abandoned nature. And with these thoughts, 
remorse for the past, dread of the present, with a 
vague foreboding of the future, made him miserable. 

He could not remain still. He walked the floor, 
pronounced himself a fool, an inexcusable block- 
head, a brute — and then, remembering that he had 
eaten nothing that morning, he ordered breakfast, 
hoping to get some comfort out of that. But the 
meal was scarcely tasted. He had no appetite, and 
eating seemed too commonplace — too tame. His 
nerves and mental condition had reached a pitch 
where they clamored for the tragic — some awful 
climax; like the thirst of the inebriate, which, by 
long indulgence, becomes so exaggerated that the 
distilled fires of perdition have no power to allay. 
He wished the time had arrived for the interview; 
and, although it still wanted more than an hour, 
he decided to go to the place of meeting. 

When he reached the clock tower, he was aston- 
ished to find the low seat occupied by a lady dressed 
in a gray suit throughout. She wore no veil, and 
her wavy black hair was loosely put back from her 
forehead and coiled artistically at the back of the 
head. As he approached, she looked up, smiled 
pleasantly, and started as though to leave the place. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


8l 


"Excuse me, madam,” he said, "I fear I am in- 
truding;" and, bowing, he would have withdrawn, 
but she detained him, saying: 

"Permit me to inquire if your name is Fred Mont- 
pier. ” 

He replied in the affirmative, and she motioned 
him to a seat by her side as she continued: 

"You are indeed the person I came to meet. It 
is a long story I have to tell you, but I think you 
will be interested,” she added, ingenuously, "so I 
will commence without preface in the olden style. 

"Once on a time, many years ago, there lived 
among the hills of Scotland an old aristocratic fam- 
ily by the name of Douglas. Their family legendry 
claimed them as descendants of the famous Douglas 
of romantic history. Their wealth had come down 
through many generations, accumulating along the 
way. But I must not be too definite, for lack of 
time will necessitate abridging the minutiae. At 
length, the honor, the wealth, and the succession of 
the family depended upon an only son. Unlike his 
ancestors, he possessed a roving disposition, and 
cutting short his college course, he announced to 
his parents that he was going to America. Suffice 
it to say that nothing could deter him from his pur- 
pose; so, providing him with plenty of money and 
a traveling companion much older than himself, he 
departed amid the regrets and tears of his parents, 


82 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


but with a sort of kindred feeling among the sisters, 
who silently wished that in some way they also 
could see the wonderful world they called America. 
The youngest, Hinda, declared that it was too mean. 
Girls never could go anywhere like boys, if they 
wanted to. 

“The voyage was prosperous and uneventful, and 
nothing of special interest occurred for some time 
after they reached New York. But our traveler was 
delighted with the freedom and rush of the great 
city — so unconventional compared with Edinburgh 
and others of his own native land. He was inclined 
to experiment along all lines of attractive amuse- 
ments, regardless of their propriety, and the tact 
and wisdom of his companion were taxed to their 
utmost in keeping this young aristocrat in the way 
of well-doing. He was here for a good time, and 
was bound to have it, regardless of consequences — 
not because he was particularly disposed to evil, 
but he was bound to get the worth of his money, 
which, like a cheap show, includes all there is to be 
seen. His companion remonstrated, but was met 
with the argument: ‘What was the use of coming 
if I cannot have a good time?’ 

“If the more select amusements were suggested, 
he simply replied, ‘O, they are pokey. I can see 
them when I get home.’ 

“But amid all the temptations and irregularities 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


83 


into which he plunged, declaring he would 'see the 
bottom of it,’ he could never be induced to touch 
liquor of any kind. When asked to do so, he always 
declined; but if urged against his refusal, he would 
rise to a sort of climax and exclaim in a way that 
meant business: 

" ‘Do you take me for an idiot? I came here for 
pleasure, and I don’t propose to upset the whole 
business and make an ass of myself because some 
fool wants me to.’ 

"He was kind and generous in his impulses, but 
intractable and headstrong in what he pronounced 
his own business. With all his rashness, he exhib- 
ited much prudence in regard to his finances, never 
taking a large amount of money with him on the 
street nor scattering it prodigally. But he never 
hesitated for a moment to pay the price to see any 
of the 'all things’ which he declared was just what 
he came for. 

"It was not possible for him to pursue this course 
long without being 'spotted’ by a class of 'toughs’ 
who haunt the variety theaters and places of public 
amusement expressly for the plunder they may se- 
cure. They had ‘shadowed’ him until they had 
located his whereabouts. One evening he was go- 
ing to a minstrel’s, and as he passed down the 
Bowery, a suspicious looking individual stepped 
from the shadow of a building and followed at a 


8 4 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


little distance. The ruffian was soon joined by a 
comrade, and, as they passed a corner, a young 
lady came from the cross street and, turning, walked 
down behind them. The two hilarious companions 
had been drinking until caution was forgotten. 

“'I say, Jim, that there chap will be a “clucker" 
when we get the job finished to-night. If he lacks 
in the ready, we’ll attach the toggery and dump the 
hulk. But we’ll wait until the show is out, though 
the ticket money will be a dead loss. There he goes 
into the office. I know’d he’d come. He’s rattled 
on sich things. He’d march into a lion’s mouth if 
he wanted to count his teeth. ’ And they passed on 
down the street. 

“The girl heard all that was said, and took in its 
import. She hurried into the office, got a ticket, 
and followed the young man into the show. She 
had never been in such a place before, and she ob- 
served that the women present were of the lowest 
class. Fortunately she had the number next fol- 
lowing the young gentleman, and they were seated 
together. 

“His dress and appearance were out of keeping with 
the low surroundings, and her face crimsoned at the 
thought that, if he noticed her at all, he would won- 
der at her presence here, or think her as vile as the 
others. But the play commenced, and he was all 
attention, and she had an opportunity of observing 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


85 


him without attracting his notice. He was frank 
and intelligent, she judged from his countenance, 
but there was a contrast between him and his sur- 
roundings which was immeasurable, as she thought. 
He applauded and laughed and became quite en- 
thusiastic over some parts which were well rendered. 
But that which interested her most was, what she 
should do with him as soon as the play was out. 
She was there for no other purpose except to save 
him from the hands of these ruffians. She dare not 
speak to him, for in such a place the least familiar- 
ity would arouse suspicion and defeat the object 
sought. 

“It was getting late. The play was drawing to a 
close. What should she do? The dread and un- 
certainty, with the absolute necessity of acting quick- 
ly, was overwhelming. She could scarcely breathe 
or see from the excitement. Suddenly the play 
ceased, the curtain fell, and the audience made a rush 
for the door. The young man was obliged to pass 
her to reach the aisle, and, just as she arose to go, 
her foot caught in something, and she fell to the 
floor. He came near stumbling over her as she lay 
moaning and unable to rise. Quickly recovering 
himself, he stooped and raised her up and placed 
her on the seat, and for the first time noticed her 
presence in the hall. It struck him instantly that 
something was wrong. How came this refined and 


86 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


delicate woman in this horrible place? But he ev- 
idently had her on his hands, for he would not trust 
her with any one in the crowd. She seemed to re- 
vive a little, and putting his arm around her, he 
helped her to the street. A policeman was there, 
who ordered a cab, and, with his assistance, Doug- 
las placed the young lady in it, and taking a seat 
by her side, asked: ‘Where shall we drive?’ She 
gave the number of her residence, and added, ‘Tell 
him to drive slowly.’ 

“The supreme moment of the episode had come. 
Quietly withdrawing herself from the arms of her 
companion, who still supported her, she sat perfectly 
erect, and, looking him frankly in the face, asked: 

“‘Do I look like a fraud?’ 

“This question, so unexpected, so naive, and that, 
too, from a very dignified and really pretty young 
lady whom one moment ago he was holding so care- 
fully lest this poor little crushed piece of humanity 
should suffer from the motion of the cab — she to be 
so transformed! Douglas was dumfounded. His 
usually glib tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. 

“The utter astonishment and perplexity expressed 
in his countenance caused the ripple of a smile to 
play around her mouth, and her eyes expressed a 
mirthfulness which she could not conceal. But as 
he recovered from the first surprise, with quick 
perception he took in the situation, and, in cutting 
tones of sarcasm, he replied: 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


87 


“ ‘Madam, your part has been well played. I ad- 
mit, I was greatly interested. I will pay the bill 
and leave the scene,’ and he reached for the bell 
strap. But with a frightened look, she grasped his 
arm, saying: 

“‘Please listen!’ 

“But he shook her off, saying, 'Pray what is the 
next act to be?’ And, in spite of the dupe she had 
made him, he had a desire to see the play through 
to the end. 

“Very quickly she told the circumstances which 
had led to this denouement — how she feigned the 
fall, as the only way that seemed feasible; and when 
she had finished the recital, she turned her face to- 
ward him and, in a grave manner, asked: 

“‘Do I still look like a fraud?’ 

“And he answered with a smile, 'Circumstances 
alter cases; and this time you do not.’ 

“‘Then believe me, and let us be friends.’ And 
she held out her hand, which he took and pressed 
fervently as he expressed his gratitude for the 
prompt and heroic manner in which she had acted 
in his behalf. They now exchanged cards, he prom- 
ising to call the next day, and she with an admo- 
nition to be sure and have the cab take him to his 
lodgings — they separated. 

It is the old story — yet ever new bringing to each 
the Eden of their lives. 


88 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


“Eulalia DeFay was, as her name would indicate, 
of French extraction, the daughter of a missionary, 
and was born in India. Her mother died when she 
was but a few years old, and the child was sent to 
America and placed in a school devoted to the in- 
terests of missions. Here she was carefully trained 
and educated, and at the age of seventeen left the 
institution and became companion to a Quaker lady, 
one of the patrons of the school, where she had the 
advantages of refined and elegant associations as a 
member of the family. She had occupied this po- 
sition only a few years when the incident occurred 
which introduced her to Douglas. 

“As the cab drove away, she ran up the steps of 
the mansion and, without preliminary, rushed into 
Mrs. Vane’s room, exclaiming: 

“‘I just want to tell you!’ 

“A sweet-faced, elderly woman looked up from 
the book she was reading and replied, ‘Well, well, 
dear, take off thy hat and get thy breath. The story, 
whatever it be, will keep that Jong.’ 

“Eulalia quickly drew a hassock in front of her 
friend and sat down at her feet, where, with all re- 
straint gone, and an enthusiasm which she had not 
yet learned to understand, she told Mrs. Vane the 
story of the evening in the utter abandon of the de- 
licious happines which filled her heart, beamed from 
her eyes, and expressed itself in dainty little caresses 


THE KODAK WOMAN 89 

which she lavished upon the hands that quietly 
smoothed her hair. 

" ‘But thee said the stranger was coming for a call 
to-morrow. Thee will give me the pleasure of meet- 
ing him also?’ she queried. 

“Eulalia sprang up and, throwing her arms around 
the neck of her friend, replied, ‘To be sure I will. 
I wish him to know that I have the best and the 
loveliest auntie in the world.’ 

"She then unclasped her arms and, with a grace- 
ful swing, swept into the center of the room, where 
she waltzed and danced with the artless, untram- 
meled freedom of a child. The dance ceased with 
a return to the hassock, and, with a rippling, merry 
laugh, she announced, ‘I’m tired.’ 

“The young man called the next day, and Mrs. 
Vane liked his frank, engaging manners and pleas- 
ant ways. It is not strange to say that his calls 
became frequent, and each of the two young people 
came to think the other indispensable to their own 
happiness. But Douglas knew that his father would 
never, never consent to his marriage at present, or 
with the homeless daughter of a missionary; while 
Eulalia was sure that Mrs. Vane would never ap- 
prove of her marrying Douglas under those circum- 
stances; and as they talked the matter over them- 
selves, they came to one definite conclusion — ‘‘That 
if the course of true love never did run smooth?^ 


go 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


"And if turbulent tides were any indication, theirs 
certainly was the genuine article. Eulal ia looked 
upon Douglas as a model in all respects; but when 
he proposed a secret marriage, her sense of honesty 
and plain dealing was for a moment shocked. 

"‘But whose business is it but our own? You do 
not expect Mrs. Vane to be responsible for your wel- 
fare, and she has no right to dictate in what con- 
cerns you alone. Father married my mother because 
he loved her and had a mind to, and I propose to 
do the same thing,’ and, kissing the sober, per- 
plexed face, which somewhat annoyed him by its 
unusual solemnity, he proceeded to make out the 
programme without further delay. 

"‘Now, to-morrow evening we attend the opera. 
We will go early because we wish a long walk in 
the fresh air. That being the case, we will walk 
straight to the Rectory of Grace Church and de- 
light the heart of its presiding dignitary by giving 
him the opportunity of making two young people 
very happy, while adding somewhat to the always 
depleted condition of an ecclesiastical exchequer.’ 

"The merry, pompous way in which he rattled on, 
so unmindful of any wrong-doing, or real hindrance 
to the consummation of their happiness, reassured 
Eulalia, and, smiling a faint, reluctant smile, she 
consented to the arrangement. 

"A few weeks passed by, and Mr. Ware decided 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


91 


to return to Scotland, as his control over Douglas 
had ceased entirely, and he was unable to ascertain 
anything definite in regard to his movements or in- 
tention. But when he announced This purpose, he 
was rather surprised at the evident satisfaction man- 
ifest in the countenance of Doulgas as he replied, 
'Very well, do as you see fit, but I shall remain.’ 

“Mr. Ware had been gone but a few weeks when 
the following communication came to Douglas: 

“ ‘My Dear Son: 

'“Mr. Ware tells us that you have had a splendid 
time and enjoyed yourself much — for which I am 
thankful. I am sure your vacation has been so long 
and so pleasant that, with great promptitude and 
cheerfulness, you will return to your duties as junior 
clerk in the office. Enclosed is draft for return 
passage. You will receive no more remittances. 

“‘Your affectionate father, 

“ ‘Russell Douglas. 


'“P. S. I hope there will be no delay, as the place 
in the office is awaiting you. R. D.’ 


“Had the earth yawned at his feet, Douglas could 
not have felt more alarmed or helpless at the situa- 
tion. The cool irony of the letter showed that his 
father was in one of his most dangerous moods, and 
there was nothing to do but hasten home and man- 
age in some way to remit means for the support of 
his wife until he could arrange for bringing her to 
Scotland. He hastened to tell her all, and advised 
her- to stay with Mrs. Vane if possible, and he would 


92 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


provide means to bring her to Scotland as soon as 
he could so manage. 

“It was a sad parting, and they clung to each other 
in sheer desperation, and said the last good-bye with 
pledges of fidelity and love. But youth is always 
hopeful, and they had scarcely separated before 
they began to count the days when the first letter 
should be received. Douglas was taken ill on the 
passage home, and grew worse so rapidly that when 
the vessel arrived in port it was by means of cards 
among his papers that they were enabled to send a 
message to his family. He was taken home, and 
for weeks hovered between life and death. “A slow 
type of brain fever,” said the physician, as he shook 
his head. But finally he rallied, and, after a long 
time, was able to sit up. He now wrote a letter 
full of love and tenderness to his dear little wife, 
as he called her, telling all that had transpired, and 
hoping that she was happy, and saying that as soon 
as he could work he would send her money. At 
the close he told her how he had missed her and 
longed for her, and how his life should be given to 
the one purpose of bringing her home to himself. 
In its yearning for something beyond its reach, in 
its promises amid circumstances so forbidding, it 
was like hope struggling with the billows of despair. 
It taxed his feeble strength to its utmost, and took 
several days to complete. At the close he told 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


93 


Eulalia she must not answer this, as his letters 
would come in the family mail and require an ex- 
planation, which at present he was not prepared to 
make. 

“Hinda, his youngest sister, was made his confi- 
dant in all things, and she listened in astonish- 
ment and dismay to the recital as he committed the 
letter to her care. She seemed to grow old and wise 
as he talked, and at the close she shut her lips with 
a determination that nothing should ever wrest this 
secret from her grasp. 

“When the missive departed, it took all the love 
that a devoted heart could give and all the strength 
that a feeble body had in store, and was followed by 
a relapse for months, with again a slow convales- 
cence. The physician ordered a change of climate, 
and Douglas, with Hinda as his companion, em- 
barked for America. 

“But to return to Eulalia. 

“Several weeks had elapsed, and she had heard 
nothing from Douglas; but she knew that he had a 
difficult task before him, and she could trust him. 
So, patiently and uncomplainingly, she waited. It 
was now the fall of the year, and the weather was 
growing cooler, and one morning Mrs. Vane an- 
nounced that she had decided to spend the winter in 
the South, as a few premonitory twinges of neuralgia 


94 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


had warned her that a winter in this cold climate 
might be a dangerous experiment for her to try. Eu- 
lalia was alarmed at the situation in one regard, but 
in another heard the decision with a sense of great 
relief. She had discovered with dismay that she was 
in a delicate condition, and the time would come 
when Mrs. Vane must be informed of the fact. The 
marriage she could prove, but what of the lack of 
confidence which she had manifested in one whose 
kindness had never failed her? and what of the de- 
ception which she had practiced which only her own 
necessities would force her to explain? 

"Eulalia’s sensitive nature shrank from these con- 
ditions with abhorrence, while the realities of the 
case and the fear of exposure vied with each other 
in their terror. But the absence of Mrs. Vane from 
the city would delay the necessity for explanation. 
But where should she find a home in this her great 
extremity, hopelessly separated from the only friend 
upon whom she could rely? Besides, she knew that 
Mrs. Vane would expect her to accompany her 
South. But she could not leave this present locality 
or she should lose all communication with Douglas. 
But what excuse could she give for remaining be- 
hind in this great city, when one who had claims 
of deepest gratitude upon her needed her care and 
sympathy among strangers? Eulalia thought at 
times that she should go frantic, as these alarming 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


95 


problems continually clamored for an answer. Some- 
times she wished that she could die, if Doulgas 
would not miss her so. It was a period of most 
harrowing uncertainty and distress to the happy 
bride of a few months ago. How she did wish that 
something might happen to clear up the difficulty 
and make the way easy. But nothing happened, 
and the days wore on, slowly and surely bringing 
her doom. 

“It was one evening, and they were sitting as 
usual in the twilight, Mrs. Vane in her easy chair 
and Eulalia on the hassock at her feet. A bright 
fire was burning in the grate, but the gas was not 
yet lighted. Mrs. Vane had been silently watch- 
ing the fire for some time. Finally she observed: 

“ ‘I think the trip South will benefit thee also, as 
thee has looked not quite strong of late.’ 

“‘I should so like to go,’ Eulalia replied, impul- 
sively. ‘But I cannot, I cannot; and the worst of 
it is, I cannot tell you why. But O, do believe me, 
my best and dearest friend, it is circumstances be- 
yond my control. It is my misfortune, but not a 
sin, and although it is almost breaking my heart, 
I dare not say I would have it otherwise. I know 
I seem ungrateful and cruel, when you need me most 
to refuse to go, and I am overwhelmed with remorse 
and pain by the facts, but I cannot go, neither can 
I explain.’ And, burying her face in Mrs. Vane’s 


g6 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


lap, she sobbed convulsively, moaning and crying 
until the violence of her emotions had spent itself 
and she was quiet again. 

"Mrs. Vane was bewildered as well as alarmed, 
but she dared not excite her more, and she simply 
said: 

‘“Never mind, dearj things often are not nearly as 
bad as we imagine.’ 

“Eulalia kissed her hand and replied, ‘O, you 
are so kind and good! How shall I live without 
you?’ 

“Smoothing the bowed head gently, Mrs. Vane 
replied, ‘God knows, and he will temper the wind 
to the shorn lamb. None of us can take care of 
ourselves. ’ ’’ 


CHAPTER V. 


"Weeks had passed, and Mrs. Vane had gone 
South and Eulalia found shelter with a poor woman 
whom she had once befriended. She had some 
money which her husband gave her when he went 
away, and a small amount which Mrs. Vane insisted 
on her taking when she left for the South. But her 
life was a dreary one — so different from that to which 
she had been accustomed. Yet, hardest of all to 
bear was the uncertainty in regard to her husband. 
For, unaccountably, the letter so freighted with love, 
and written at the expense of almost life itself, 
never reached its destination. Eulalia grew pale 
and emaciated, and the weary hours dragged slowly 
along, and yet, in dread of that near future, time 
seemed to fly as on the wings of the wind, while 
the weeks passed like fleeing mile-boards when we 
travel by the lightning express. 

"The time came at last when she left her present 
shelter — home it could not be called— and went to 
the lying-in hospital.” 

Here the narrator, the woman in grey, ceased her 
recital and said to Montpier, "But it is getting late. 

97 


9 8 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


I must go. Read this paper carefully when in your 
room,” she continued, handing him a package, “and 
I will meet you here again at any hour you may 
name. ” 

Montpier was deeply interested and anxious to 
know what all this had to do with him; so, realiz 
ing that he should devour and digest the contents 
of that paper during the night, he named eight 
o’clock in the morning, as that seemed the earliest 
hour which propriety would permit, and immedi- 
ately rising, they separated. 

When Montpier reached his apartments he ordered 
lunch at once, as his experience during a few days 
past had taught him that the neglect of food, with 
the mysteries and the miseries by which he was 
surrounded, was wearing upon his physical health 
and strength. When the lunch came, he had very little 
appetite — eating rapidly and but a small quantity, 
and then turned without ceremony to the perusal of 
the documents which he had in hand. 

It began without preface at the very point where 
the woman in grey had ceased the recital, and com- 
menced thus: 

“A large number of patients were in the asylum, 
and Eulalia was put in charge of Nora, one of the 
nurses. Nora was one of the few who are old in 
experience, but young in years. She came to New 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


99 


York as the multitudes come — none knew from 
whence and none seemed to care. She had been 
known in theatrical circles in her own country, and 
always took the part which required shrewdness and 
dealt in intrigue and mysteries. In some casts of 
characters she seemed indispensable. Murders and 
suicides were her forte; and the management itself 
often stood breathless with vague terror as she 
played with such realism her tragedies before the 
footlights. At last, fearing some terrible denoue- 
ment, they dismissed her with regret, yet with a 
sense of relief, from the stage. 

“It was a terrible blow to Nora, for she was in- 
fatuated with her profession. And now, private 
theatricals were her mania. The most quiet life to 
her was a drama, and to her highly wrought imag- 
ination the most prosy individual possessed a silent 
attraction. She felt sure that some secret desire or 
sin or sorrow they were trying to conceal by their 
apparent stupidity. 

“It was this woman, Nora, who sought and obtained 
congenial employment in the Foundling Hospital 
in New York. Here she had ample scope for her 
inordinate passion for the weird. Each little waif 
was not only a helpless infant who appealed to her 
sympathies, but also was a sealed package of mys- 
teries which in some way she was bound to pene- 
trate. 


IOO 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


“She observed that her natural manner attracted 
attention, which was the one thing which she wished 
to avoid, so, with the inspiration of a new purpose, 
she commenced the transformation of herself into 
different impersonations. For hours she studied 
before the glass her facial expressions. She learned 
by the mechanical play of the muscles how to ex- 
press indifference, stupidity, or intense interest. 

“She saw that her eyes were the traitors which 
aroused suspicion and declared her purpose. So 
she looked down or away whenever it was possible 
and the situation demanded caution. But there were 
times when something more was needed. There- 
fore she schooled herself to look at people while at 
the same time allowing the eyelids to droop, until 
the long lashes prevented the most penetrating from 
reading her purpose. This also gave to her coun- 
tenance a dull expression, and together with a 
slight dropping of the jaw, added to the mask of 
stupidity which she learned to wear She studied 
herself until she became a triumph in the art of 
masquerading. She had been at the asylum for 
some time, and had won the confidence of the offi- 
cials by faithful performance of every duty. She 
had few acquaintances, no confidants, and talked 
very little, and could be trusted with the most dan- 
gerous secrets of the institution, as she accepted 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


IOI 


everything as commonplace, was never inquisitive, 
never curious — so well did she play her part. She 
was always in her place and ready when needed — 
silent and demure, but the most efficient in emer- 
gencies of any nurse in the hospital. 

“She explored the building just as thoroughly as 
she investigated people and circumstances. There 
was not a dark closet or back stairway, a closed-up 
window or door, a loose board or unevenness in the 
wall, but she knew its history and its mystery, if it 
had any, and all it concealed. She searched these 
uncanny things as grave-snatchers hunt for dia- 
monds, totally regardless of coffins or ghosts or skulls, 
so they find the treasures which they seek. With 
her, secrets were the fascination — strange, shadowy 
things — just a clew to an unwritten story, just a 
suggestion of things at which other people shudder, 
a wrong never righted, a young life put out, treach- 
ery enacted for various purposes — out of these frag- 
ments she built casts for her phantom theater, group- 
ing ghostly actors on the stage, some of whom 
would have rivaled Hamlet or Macbeth in their 
hideousness. 

“And this was the woman Nora, with these strange, 
incongruous characteristics, to whose care Eulalia 
DeFay was committed, when she repaired to the 
lying-in hospital and was assigned to cot 75, located 
in the farthest room down the long hall in the up- 


102 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


per ward. There were a number of empty beds in 
this vicinity, and she was comparatively by herself. 
She had asked for this seclusion, and shunned all 
observation and refused to answer any questions in 
regard to herself. Nora frequently observed traces 
of tears on her face when she had been left alone. 
She gave her name as Maud, but, further than that, 
it was impossible to get any information. A few 
days after her arrival, about six o’clock in the even- 
ing, she gave birth to a son. It was apparently a 
bright, healthy child, but with the peculiarity of 
having on his left foot but four toes, the second 
one being about as wide as the two should have 
been, but there being but one set of bones, one set 
of cords and muscles, and one toe-nail. It was a 
perfect toe, and could not be separated into two.” 

At this juncture, Montpier dropped the paper, 
turned pale and trembled as though smitten with 
palsy. He rose and staggered about the room as 
one haunted by a frightful nightmare. He seemed 
bewildered — grasping in an uncertain way at every- 
thing within his reach, and it was a long time be- 
fore this tumult subsided and he dropped into a 
chair, worn out with contending emotions. He sat 
still for a while with closed eyes, but the fascina- 
tions of that paper were irresistible, and again he 
devoured its ^ntents. 

“The patient came there with the understanding 


THE KODAK WOMAN IO3 

that when her child was born it was hers no longer, 
but was disposed of by the management of the in- 
stitution, and she must never ask or know its fate. 
O, relentless destiny! cursed with motherhood, but 
robbed of its only recompense or joy! The young 
mother never saw her child, as it was taken from 
the room and was never returned. Nora had charge 
of the babe, and, with eager curiosity, discovered 
the toe. But she said not a word, and, after dress- 
ing the infant, covered the foot quickly, lest some 
one should steal her secret. 

“She laid the child in a little crib with a card 
marked ‘75’ placed at its head. Just then came a 
light tap at the door, and the matron entered. She 
said: 

“‘Nora, there is a carriage waiting at the street 
for this new-born infant to fill the place of a still- 
born child in a highly respectable family. We know 
we can trust you, and we wish you to take it to its 
new home.’ 

“For a moment there was perfect silence in the 
room. But in Nora’s bosom there raged a tempest 
to which storms and floods are playthings. Had the 
matron asked her to butcher the pale young mother 
up-stairs, the request would not have been more 
brutal or repulsive to her. But she knew the relent- 
less rules of the institution, and also that she only 
could save to that mother, robbed of her child, a 


104 the kodak woman 

clew to its whereabouts. Overborne by her emotions 
and the importance of her mission, she suddenly 
towered to a dramatic ecstasy never before exhibited 
in the presence of the astonished matron. Striking 
an attitude, with one arm aloft, her brows lifted 
until her eyes seemed twice their natural size and 
gleamed like an animal’s at bay, she said in a deep 
stage whisper: 

“ ‘I go. I prepare the substitute. I await the 
summons,* and turning quickly, she commenced to 
arrange for the journey. 

“The matron was speechless with terror and won- 
der; but, after waiting awhile, to be sure the woman 
was not stark mad, she withdrew. 

“By this time Nora was thoroughly herself again. 
Her drooping lids, her loose jaw and slotiching gait, 
as she trotted down the long walk behind the mes- 
senger who had come for the foundling which she 
held in her arms, identified her at once as the half 
imbecile, yet trusted and faithful servant of the asy- 
lum. But Nora was in trouble, for she did not see 
just how she was to keep the link between mother 
and child perfect. Her short experience on the stage 
and off had taught her that, where there was extreme 
haste and doubtful measures, there was pressing 
need of some kind. Many things came into her 
mind. Perhaps the respectable mother would never 
know that the foundling was not her own child. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


105 

Perhaps there was an inheritance which would be 
lost without an heir. 

In the midst of her cogitations the carriage 
stopped, the door was opened, and she was helped 
out with the child still in her arms, as she had re- 
fused to surrender it to any one. Nora shambled up 
the steps of the handsome residence and sat down 
without invitation in the elegant parlor. A small- 
faced, sharp-featured man looking over the bows of 
his gold glasses came forward. Peering cautiously 
at her, he asked: 

‘“Did you bring a child?’ 

“‘Yes.’ 

'“Is it a boy?’ 

‘“Yes.’ 

“ ‘How old is it?’ 

“ ‘Four hours.’ 

“‘What is its name? 

“ ‘Seventy-five.’ 

“‘Do you know who its father or mother is?’ 

“‘No.’ 

“The man, who proved to be the attending physi- 
cian, seemed delighted. He crossed the room and 
stood in conversation for a short time with a gentle- 
man who was a striking contrast to the little doctor. 
He was tall and dignified, of commanding presence, 
and immaculate in dress and person. His voice was 
rich and musical, and his enunciation clear and per- 


106 THE KODAK WOMAN 

feet, and Nora distinctly heard all that he said. In 
reply to something that the doctor asked, he replied : 

“‘Yes, I’m glad it is a boy; it will be better under 
the circumstances.’ 

“Again, in response to the doctor’s remarks, he 
said: ‘I am glad that all trace of its parentage is 

lost, but I would like to see the infant.’ 

“The two came back where Nora was sitting, and 
asked to see the child. Without a word she un- 
covered its face, and its little chubby fists were 
folded under its chin, and it was sleeping, regardless 
of its destiny. 

“‘Give it to me,’ the doctor said. 

“But Nora, without complying, asked, ‘What do 
you want of it?’ 

“There was such a stupid look in her half-shut eyes 
and vague expression in her countenance that the 
doctor, smiling, replied: 'This gentleman has just 
lost his little child, and he wants this to take its 
place.’ 

“‘I want to see the other baby,’ she said, with a 
childish curiosity in her manner. She had risen and, 
with the infant in her arms, stood in the middle of 
the room. 

“The men looked at each other. 

“ ‘She is all right and can be trusted, they told 
me at the institution— only a little daft,’ the doctor 
added, as he led the way into a small room and mo- 
tioned Nora to follow. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


107 


"It was a charming place. The gaslight was 
softened by a pink screen, while the fragrance of 
flowers filled the apartment. In the center of the 
room was a tiny stand draped in white, and on it 
what seemed to be the most beautiful waxen doll that 
was ever moulded. A lace screen covered it slightly, 
which the doctor removed. Nora looked at the little 
silent form for a moment, then, with an expression 
of pleasure on her stupid face, said, ‘Is it wax? 
Can I take it up?’ 

'“O, no,’ the doctor replied, ‘it’s the dead baby. 
Don’t touch it.’ 

"Again she said admiringly, 'What a pretty 
little girl!’ 

"The doctor looked frightened, but said nothing. 

"Nora continued, ‘Say, it ain’t a fair bargain. 
Girls ain’t worth as much as boys — especially dead 
ones. ’ 

“The doctor felt relieved when he saw that the 
financial side of the question was what disturbed 
the lunatic in this grim and ghostly trade. 

"'How much boot are you going to pay tween 
the girl and the boy?’ 

"‘I’m to settle that with the matron,’ the doctor 
replied, evasively, and she seemed satisfied, for the 
first time showing any inclination to give up the 
child. 

"‘O, I like to forgot to tell you. He ain’t sound. 


io8 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


Maybe he ain’t worth any more’n a girl,” and, 
quickly uncovering the child, she exhibited the left 
foot minus one toe. The doctor examined it critic- 
ally, and soon ascertained that the joints were all 
right and the foot otherwise perfect except the ab- 
sence of one toe. Nora watched him anxiously, and 
when he had completed the examination she asked: 

“‘Do you think it will hurt his health?’ 

“The doctor assured her it would not, and with 
a sigh of relief, she replied: 

“Tm awful glad. But I don’t think he’ll ever 
be a good dancer.’ 

“This was too much for the doctor’s gravity, and 
he laughed, in spite of the solemn occasion. 

“‘Well,’ she said, ‘I guess I’ll be going, if you 
think they will be willing to take the boy without 
the toe.’ 

“He told her, with all the gravity he could assume, 
that he thought they would do so. 

“‘Well,’ she said, ‘I hope they will be good to 
him, for he’s an awful nice little chap.’ And, put 
ting the child in his arms, she turned abruptly and 
shuffled through the rooms to the front door. Here 
she slipped, and, in the effort to prevent a fall, her 
purse, which for some unaccountable reason she 
had in her hand, dropped, and in the dim light she 
could not find it. The butler brought a light and 
found the purse, and to prevent further accident 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


IOg 

he accompanied her to the carriage. As he helped 
her in she said: 

‘“Tell: — say, what is the doctor’s name?’ 

“‘Graves,’ he replied. 

“‘Tell Dr. Graves the baby will want feeding 
pretty soon,’ and the cab door closed and Nora was 
on her way back to the asylum. 

“All stupidity instantly disappeared. Her eyelids 
lifted, and her eyes gleamed like coals of fire. 

“‘Let’s see. This is Fifty-ninth street. I saw by 
the butler’s light the name on the door is G. J. 
Montpier. The number is 86; the doctor’s name is 
Graves. I can remember that. It’s the place to- 
ward which we are all traveling.’ And settling 
back in a corner of the cab, she remained motion- 
less until she reached her destination. 

“She went immediately to see Maud, and as she 
entered the room their eyes met, and Nora turned 
away, because she could not endure the pathetic, 
agonized look with which the young mother asked 
for her child. Nora made her comfortable, shaking 
the pillows and gently smoothing her hair, but 
neither spoke of what was filling both hearts to 
breaking. She was feverish and restless during the 
night, moaning in her sleep at times and reaching 
wearily for something with her white, thin arms. 

“The doctor came in the morning, but he looked 
grave and shook his head in answer to Nora’s ques- 
tioning look. 


no 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


"And so the days wore away — sad, still, monotonous 
days. ‘There seemed nothing to say, because of the 
decree of silence which sealed their lips. One even- 
ing, Maud, who had been very restless during the 
day, subsided into an unusual calm. The hectic 
flush was. on her cheek, and the bright gleam in her 
eyes which marks the consumptive. As Nora came 
to prepare her for the night she grasped her hand 
with the force of desperation, and said huskily: 

‘“I can bear this no longer. Where is my child?’ 

"Nora, who defied all regulations when they inter- 
fered with her conscience or her duty, was glad of 
this opportunity to tell the dying mother all there 
was to tell; and as she described the beautiful 
home into which the child had been adopted, and 
the magnificent man with the musical voice and 
courtly manners who was to be his father, for the 
first time a peaceful expression settled down upon 
the wan face, and she replied with a faint smile: 
‘Thank God! I am so glad.’ And then, with an ear- 
nest gaze of the glassy eyes, which seemed trying to 
read the very heart of Nora, she said: 

"‘You’ll never forget him, but will watch over him 
always and shield him and love him as I would have 
done?’ 

"Nora nodded, her heart too full for utterance. 

“ ‘But you must swear it. Bow your head and lift 
your hand,’ and as Nora obeyed she added, ‘May 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


III 


God bless you or curse you as you keep this oath — 
amen.’ Exhausted, she closed her eyes and lay still, 
scarcely breathing, while Nora finished the prepara- 
tions for the night; and when she went, as usual, to 
kiss her patient before retiring, she found her quiet, 
and a whispered ‘Thank God’ was all the indication 
that she was not asleep. After this evening she 
failed rapidly, but the former heart-hunger and anx- 
iety had gone, and a faint smile sometimes passed 
over her countenance. One morning, after an un- 
usually quiet night, she called Nora to sit by her, 
and then began talking in a very earnest manner. 

'“I want you to remember all I tell you and tell 
it to my boy when he becomes a man;’ and then she 
told the story of her life, and at the close she took 
from under her pillow a small package, and handing 
it to her, added: 

“ ‘Look at this when I am gone. It will explain 
itself. Then give it to my precious darling child 
and tell him to find his father if possible.’ And, 
very weary, she turned her face away and soon fell 
asleep. It was only a few days when a rude coffin 
bore the tired young mother to the world’s only rest- 
ing place, the grave. Nora was the only person who 
accompanied the remains, and most sacredly did she 
mark the spot in a remote corner of the Potter’s 
Field set apart for the use of the asylum from one 
of the nearest cemeteries. The next day a board, 


1 1 2 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


painted and lettered with the name ‘Maud— 75 — Hos- 
pital,’ made the grave easy to identify and placed 
it beyond the possibility of being lost. Nora saw 
the board placed, the grave smoothed over, and 
some flowers left at its head, and then, with genuine 
love and tears for the hapless fate of one so young 
and beautiful, she left the cemetery. 

“When Nora returned to the asylum she went to 
her room and locked the door. Then, laying aside 
her hat, she drew a small package from her bosom, 
and sitting down by the window, removed the 
wrappings. It was two photographs — a lady and a 
gentleman. They were both young and attractive, 
and for a moment she failed to recognize Maud in 
the beautiful and happy face that looked at her so 
smilingly, but slowly the resemblance developed, 
until it was perfect, excepting that the one she now 
looked upon was plump, bright and happy, while 
the other which she left in the Potter’s Field yes- 
terday was worn, weary and desolate. She turned 
the picture over, and on the back was traced in a 
delicate hand, ‘Eulalia DeFay Douglas.’ The other 
photograph was that of a bright, gay, polished young 
man, but there were lines about the mouth and the 
contour of the chin which declared firmness which 
might develop into stubbornness. His merry eyes 
indicated a mirthful and kind disposition, and the 
forehead, wide about the eyes, assured good busi- 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


113 

ness qualities. It was the face of a man well born 
and bred, expressing in his countenance a belief in 
his own capabilities and a determination to depend 
upon them. 

“She turned the photograph, and in bold, rather 
dashing hand was written, ‘Richard Russell Doug- 
las, Edinburgh, Scotland.’ A carefully folded paper 
had fallen to the floor, which proved to be a mar- 
riage certificate of the two young people whose pho- 
tographs accompanied it. 

“Putting these all together again, Nora laid them 
where she only could know their hiding place; then, 
with a heavy sigh of responsibility, and yet with a 
sort of pleasure along with her mania for secrets and 
tragedies, she returned to her hospital duties, to 
bide her time.” 

Here the narration closed, but in a small pack- 
age which accompanied the document, Montpier 
found the photographs and marriage certificate re- 
ferred to, and, folding them all together, he laid 
them on his desk for the night. After awhile he 
rose and commenced pacing the floor. It seemed 
that during the past few hours he had somehow lost 
his identity. His whole former life passed before 
him as a strange panorama moving slowly while 
he stood viewing it from afar. He felt like calling 
to his other self, to ascertain if he could get a re- 


TI 4 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


ply. iHe looked in the glass, and was not surprised 
to see a very good likeness of the photograph gaz- 
ing out at him. But where was Montpier, his former 
self? He had known him so long, and they had 
been so intimate, that he could not lose him with- 
out regret. But these strange feelings passed away 
gradually, and, realizing that he was exhausted by 
the events of the day, he retired, and to his un 
speakable relief, fell asleep. He slept profoundly 
through the night, but in the early grey of the morn- 
ing the noise in the street slightly disturbed him, 
and he thought a long funeral procession was pass- 
ing and, in some unaccountable manner, he beheld 
himself in a coffin in the hearse. He looked nat- 
ural, only he was dead, and they were taking him 
to the cemetery. As they reached the entrance a 
procession of mourners filed in behind the hearse, 
and to his surprise, he recognized the originals of 
the photographs which lay on his desk. Then came 
his uncle Belmont, who had died only a few weeks 
previous. Then came Montpier, his father, with a 
frail, sweet woman whom he did not recognize. The 
procession soon came to an open grave, into which 
the coffin was lowered. The sleeper experienced a 
vague, undefinable pity for the corpse, his other 
self. The mourners formed in a circle around the 
grave, and, to his unspeakable horror, he saw the 
“Woman in Black” standing at the head, pronounc- 



He thought a long funeral procession was passing. — Page 114. 


Il6 THE KODAK WOMAN 

ing the burial service; and as she said, “Ashes to 
ashes,” the grave digger sprinkled the coarse gravel 
upon the coffin lid, which reverberated like peals of 
thunder, and he awoke with a start and found it was 
only the clatter of milk wagons on the pavement 
which had disturbed his slumbers. 

He arose and dressed. It was still early morning, 
and he went out for a walk and for breakfast. But 
he could not get the dream out of his mind, and 
with it the impression that he was losing his per- 
sonality and becoming some new individual. He 
shrank from meeting any acquaintances, lest they 
should observe the change. He walked rapidly, 
looked from side to side and kept on the least fre- 
quented streets. This unusual conduct, so unlike 
his former self, attracted his attention and served to 
confirm his suspicions, and was a part of the trans- 
formation. At this critical juncture, a lady crossed 
the street to meet him, and holding out her hand, 
said: 

“Good morning, Montpier; I judge your lodgings 
must be somewhere in this neighborhood, as you 
are abroad at such an early hour.” 

It was the lady in gray who thus addressed him. 

He gave a little start, wondering if he really were 
Montpier, but he answered, “Yes, not far away,” — 
but, for the life of him, he could not have told in 
which direction they were. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


117 

"I have not breakfasted,” she continued, “and am 
sure you have not; you will not mind taking a cup 
of coffee with me at the caf£ which I sometimes 
patronize, ” and, leading the way, she entered a res- 
taurant near by and ordered hot rolls, steak, and 
coffee for two. Then she chattered on. 

“I have been out for a long walk this morning, 
and presume you have also; and if you are as hungry 
as I, you will not mind how soon we are served.” 

When she met Montpier she had noticed with 
some anxiety his peculiar mood, and now kept up 
this flow of small talk, to divert, if possible, his 
thought from himself. 

“O! I forgot to inquire,” she continued, “do you 
like your steak rare? If you do not, I fear it will 
be spoiled for you, as they are accustomed to my 
way, and evidently will cook both in the same style. 
But when we think of it, it does seem strange 
to eat flesh at all, and especially in a semi-raw 
state — which is quite in vogue at present, partly, 

I presume, because it is easier of digestion, and 
partly because it is the fashion to do so. I have 
heard that the Indians said the greatest difficulty 
they had with the white man was to teach him to 
eat raw meat. But if their acquaintance could have 
been deferred until now, the difficulty would not 
have existed.” 

The breakfast was now brought, and proved to 


n8 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


be all that could be wished of its kind. Montpier’s 
morbid mood had subsided somewhat, and for the 
first time in several days he had a relish for his 
food. The conversation thus far had been carried 
on almost entirely by his companion, he simply 
nodding assent to her suggestions; but it diverted 
his thoughts, while it called for no effort on his 
part. 

Down at the farther end of the room hung a large 
cage containing a venerable looking green parrot, 
which had been clambering about, using her long 
hooked beak and one foot in going up and down the 
sides, and finally proceeded to the very peak, where, 
hanging herself up by the bill, she suddenly dropped 
down on the perch beneath with a very emphatic 
"Well done, Polly,” and a long, chuckling laugh 
which excited a smile on the face of all present. 
Even Montpier’s countenance relaxed a little, which 
did not escape the notice of his companion. 

‘‘It is quite surprising,” she said, "how those birds 
learn to imitate. But it seems more than imitation, 
as their remarks sometimes are quite appropriate to 
the occasion.” 

"Shut up! shut up!” screamed the parrot, and a 
simultaneous burst of laughter from all in the room 
followed. The lady laughed as heartily as any one, 
and when the tumult had partially subsided, still 
smiling, she exclaimed: 


THE KODAK WOMAN II9 

“I rise to remark that their observations at times 
are more pointed than polite.” 

"You lie! you lie!” shrieked the bird, and again 
every one was convulsed with mirth, while Polly 
grasped the perch with one claw, and, throwing 
herself forward, head downward, swung back and 
forth, chuckling and laughing louder than any one 
else. But the proprietor, evidently thinking that 
Polly’s remarks were becoming too personal for 
the good of his trade, stepped across the room, and 
taking down a small whip, started for the offender. 
Instantly she dropped to the bottom of the cage, 
crying, "O, Lord! O, Lord! save me,” and com- 
menced an excited waddle toward the farthest corner, 
where, climbing to the highest perch, she sat down 
demurely, remarking, "Polly, you’re a fool.” 

This brought down the house, and even Mont- 
pier joined quietly in the laugh. The man with the 
whip laughed also, and put it back without chastis- 
ing the repentant culprit, who sat looking down, 
master of the situation. 

Montpier’s companion took out her watch and, 
rising, said as she paid the bill: 

"We have had an excellent breakfast and a fine 
entertainment, for which accept thanks and expect 
us again.” And she, with Montpier, went out into 
the street. The lady observed: 

"As it is getting late, if you have no objections 


120 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


perhaps we had better go to your rooms instead of 
going farther.” 

An expression of pain passed over his counte- 
nance, but he replied, “It would be agreeable to me. ” 

They soon reached the office, and he opened the 
door for her to pass in. As she took a seat, she 
observed the package she had given him lying on 
the desk. An awkward silence ensued. 

“You have read the manuscript?" she queried. 

Montpier nodded assent, and another silence fol- 
lowed. It seeemd impossible to talk in regard to 
a subject which not only wholly occupied their 
thoughts, but was the sole object of this interview. 
The situation was becoming unbearable, and she 
ventured the question: 

“Did you understand their import?” 

“I think I did. " 

Another silence. Where was the woman’s tact, 
which so recently won Montpier from himself and 
caused him to laugh at the mimic drolleries of a 
bird? She felt that an awful chasm yawned between 
them which must be crossed at all hazards, and 
confidence must be restored. So she said: 

“Montpier, I am Nora. I knew and loved your 
young and beautiful mother. These hands minis- 
tered to your first needs, and these arms cradled 
you tenderly, for her sake as well as your own. It 
was I who took the vow of ceaseless fidelity to you, 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


121 


and I have never failed to give you the watchful care 
as well as the tenderest affection of my heart; and 
to-day I come to redeem my pledge and tell her 
child in his manhood the story of the past.” 

Montpier was touched, almost inspired, by the 
deep pathos and tenderness with which she talked 
in regard to the past. Thoughts of his mother, the 
sweet, happy, hopeful, girlish face in the picture, 
softened his feelings, and, going to Nora, he held 
out his hand and said: 

"My more than friend, my loved and honored 
foster-mother, accept the deepest gratitude and 
choicest love of one who can never repay your kind- 
ness, ” and, taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. 
Then, bringing a chair, he sat down by her side. 
The interview which followed was a long one, in 
which were mingled many emotions of the heart. 
Nora produced another package of papers, which 
were the affidavits of the witnesses which would be 
produced to prove that he, Montpier, was not the 
son of Susan Belmont Montpier, and therefore could 
not inherit the legacy left in Mr. Belmont’s will as 
his nephew. A shade of disappointment passed 
over Montpier’s features, which Nora observing 
quickly replied : 

"This is so fortunate, for legally the same per- 
son cannot represent the interests or monopolize the 
rights of two distinct individuals; and if the fact 


122 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


is proven (which it will be) that you are not Susan 
Belmont’s child, this will confirm the more impor- 
tant fact that you are the son of Richard Russell 
Douglas, and legitimate heir to the famous name, as 
well as the immense fortune, of an old aristocratic 
Scottish family. I kept all of these records care- 
fully, and have established them by incontrovertible 
proof, identifying you by the pre-natal peculiarity of 
the left foot.” 

Montpier was reconciled to his fate, and, although 
things seemed so strange, yet, after all, there were 
new hopes, incentives and opportunities in his 
changed condition. Turning to Nora, he put his 
arm around her affectionately and said: 

“My guardian angel, how can I ever thank you 
enough? You have been my protector in the past, 
caring for me and all my interests, but in the future 
you belong to me, and I will as carefully watch over 
your welfare in return. But I cannot stay to the 
proceedings incident to the probate of the will. So 
you, who can handle all things, please postpone that 
occurrence until I can arrange my affairs and start 
for Europe," and, rising, he stood before her a 
changed man. His face and his very attitude ex- 
pressed a strength of purpose unknown until now. 

“I go to my mission," he said, “and I will find my 
father and restore to him somewhat of the love he 
lost when my mother Eulalia died. And then,” he 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


123 


added, with a new light in his eyes, “you will go 
with me.” 

“No,” she replied, “my work is not done here. 

I must right a wrong which my love for you forbids 
me to neglect, lest in any manner you helped to 
bring the climax of separation. ” 

Montpier’s face changed instantly, and, with a 
pleading look, he asked: 

“You will bring her home again? Be sure I am 
innocent of actual sin.” 

“Yes,” she said, “I know. I sent the telegram 
which brought you quickly back to the city. Your 
heart is right, your motives good, but my greatest 
trouble has been to keep you from your impulses. 
But I will come to you later.” And she added 
half seriously, “Be sure you keep some little place 
warm in your heart for an old woman who has 
ceased to be attractive or of any use in the world, 
and yet who longs inexpressibly for a sunny corner 
in some one’s happy home, where she can sit and 
dream once again of the glorified morning of a life 
which the shadows clouded all too soon.” 

But why linger over the parting? Suffice it to 
say that the desired extension of time for which 
Montpier asked was the cause of the unaccountable 
delay in the probate of Mr. Belmont’s will. 


CHAPTER VI, 


But the time had arrived when all those interested 
in the provisions of the Belmont will were present 
in person or -by their legal representative, while 
Judge Howe carefully read the document in their 
presence. The will seemed clear in its provisions, 
bequeathing a legacy of twenty-five thousand dollars 
to Belmont Montpier, the testator’s nephew, his 
sister’s only child and lineal descendant. There 
were other devises to various institutions and to 
servants who had been a long time in his employ. 
This will had been made for many years, but when 
it was brought forth after Mr. Belmont’s death, it 
was found that, only a short time previous, a codicil 
had been added which provided that if at his — Mr. 
Belmont’s — death the only child and lineal descend- 
ant of his sister, Susan Belmont Montpier, was not 
living, then the said legacy of twenty-five thousand 
dollars should become the property of Robert Las- 
ure, who had been his legal adviser. 

When the judge had finished the reading of the 
will and. the codicil attached thereto, he remained 
standing and seemed undecided what to do next. 
All were waiting, and the situation became embar- 
124 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


125 


rassing. Ac last the judge laid down the document, 
removed his spectacles, and deliberately folding his 
arms and looking over the audience, asked: 

“Where is the child and lineal descendant of Susan 
Belmont Montpier, nearest of kin and heir- at-law of 
Frederick Belmont, deceased?” 

The attention of all was for the first time directed 
to the absence of Belmont Montpier, the testator’s 
nephew. His name was called, and a young lawyer, 
a friend of his, responded that he was here as his 
representative. The judge then asked: 

“What proof have you to present that he is the 
child of Susan Montpier, the sister of Frederick 
Belmont, deceased?” 

The question seemed ridiculous, and the lawyer 
sarcastically replied: 

“Your Honor, it seems quite unnecessary to pro- 
duce proof of a fact which has never been disputed. ” 

“Have you no record of his birth or parentage to 
present?” 

“I am provided with no such documents, as I did 
not suppose this to be a court for the examination 
of the genealogies of the legatees.” 

Without taking note of the young lawyer’s sar- 
casm, the judge continued: 

“Has any person present in his possession records 
or information in regard to the matter in question?” 

There was profound silence. The interest was 


126 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


intense, the suspense painful. At last, from a re- 
mote part of the room a form arose, and Lasure 
started as he recognized the “Kodak Woman” in the 
black-robed and veiled figure who came forward and 
laid upon the table by which Mr. Howe was stand- 
ing a package which resembled legal documents 
carefully filed. Without noticing the person who 
presented the papers, the Judge took the package, 
removed the elastic band, and commenced reading 
document No. i. It ran as follows: 

“I, Robert Montpier, being more than twenty-one 
years of age and of sound mind and memory, do 
make and affirm the following statement to be sub- 
stantially true in every regard. I am the husband 
of Susan Belmont, only sister of Frederick Belmont, 
now deceased. My lawful wife, the said Susan Bel- 
mont Montpier, was delivered of a child on the 18th 
day of June in the year 18 — , said child being a 
female and dead at its birth. Fearing the effect of 
the disappointment and grief upon the life and health 
of my wife, I immediately procured from the lying- 
in hospital of this city another infant of the same 
age, said infant being a male, which was presented to 
my wife as her own child, and said infant was accepted 
by her as her own with the fondness and tender- 
ness of a mother; but, naturally delicate, she never 
recovered from the illness incident to maternity, and 
died of consumption on the 26th day of September 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


127 


of the year aforesaid. But the child, who is now a 
man, having reached his majority, is known as Bel- 
mont Montpier, and I am his accredited father; all 
of the above facts being fully substantiated by sev- 
eral reliable witnesses, while the identity of said 
child is forever placed beyond doubt or danger of 
being confounded with another by a peculiar pre- 
natal mark or deformity, he having but four toes on 
the left foot. ” 

Then followed the supplement of the affidavit and 
subscription of Mr. Montpier, the chief witness in 
the case. 

The remaining papers were read, all being but a 
substantiation of the above affidavit. These included 
the deposition of Doctor Graves, the attending phy- 
sician at the time of Susan Montpier’ s confinement, 
the attending nurse, the matron of the asylum, and 
the clergyman and confidant of the family, who offered 
prayer at the burial of the still-born infant, had 
christened the foster child in infancy, and confirmed 
him later as a member of the Episcopalian church. 

The testimony was now completed, and the Judge 
folded the papers and laid them on the table amid 
a silence so profound that it seemed like sacrilege 
to break the spell. Mr. Lasure was the most aston- 
ished person present, and when the proceedings 
were adjourned, he retired from the room with feel- 
ings painfully bewildering and conflicting. He real- 


128 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


ized that the legacy left him by Mr. Belmont’s will, 
together with his profession, would prove an ample 
support for his family. But where was his family? 
Since his wife left, he had not heard from her 
neither did he know her whereabouts. “But I have 
the children,” he thought, and an emotion of ten- 
derness and responsibility took possession of his 
heart. 

During the past few years he had seen but little 
of his children, as he took an early breakfast, and 
lunched near his office at noon. At dinner time he 
was generally tired and preoccupied, and as soon as 
the meal was concluded, the children, with Wafey, 
retired to their room, and he soon went out for the 
evening. After his wife went away, he saw less than 
ever of them, as he had adopted the habit of staying 
away frequently at the dinner hour also. After Wafey 
left, Mary, the servant, had charge of them, and he 
suddenly remembered that he had never looked after 
their interests since Wafey’ s departure, and at this 
moment he had no personal knowledge of them and 
knew nothing of their present circumstances. This 
culpable neglect of his own children, whose misfor- 
tune of being motherless and also of being deprived 
of Wafey to attend to their needs, for which he in 
a measure was to blame, came to him with an over- 
whelming sense of shame and remorse, and he de- 
cided that to reform Lasure was the first thing to 


THE KODAK WOMAN 1 29 

be attempted. He called at his office on his way 
home and found some matters which needed atten- 
tion, and then, full of his good resolutions, he started 
out again. It was late when he reached home, and 
the children had dined, and he heard them in their 
room quietly playing, as they were accustomed to 
do before bed-time. He decided to eat his dinner 
and then go to the children’s room for a while. He 
sat a long time at the tabie, as this seemed a legit- 
imate excuse for delaying the meeting, and, besides, 
he wished if possible to devise some way by which 
to win their confidence and so attract them to him- 
self. But he could think of nothing excepting that 
he was a brute and seemed perfectly helpless in 
view of the fact, and of course did just the things 
which would add to the perplexity of the situation. 
He stepped to their door and rapped. At this un- 
usual proceeding the children dropped everything 
and started to hide, but, thinking better of it, each 
dropped into a chair, and Alice in a timid voice 
called, “Come in.” 

The door opened, and their father stood before 
them. No apparition could have frightened them 
more. They instinctively felt that he was the only 
one who had any right to punish them, and it must 
be some terrible thing of which they had been guilty, 
to bring him there at that hour. They cowered back 
and held down their heads. The father, unable to 


i3° 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


take in the situation, knew not what to do or say, 
while the silence grew more and more terrifying to 
the children and embarrassing to him. At last, 
sheer desperation forced him to say: 

"Frank, come here. I wish to talk to you.” 

The child arose and came reluctantly toward him. 
Mr. Lasure attempted to smile, which only added 
ghastliness to his already pallid countenance, as he 
held out his hand to the bewildered boy, who slowly 
came within his reach. He put his arm about him 
and held him close, but there was no response to 
his yearning clasp. He was perfectly flaccid, and 
only anxious to get away. 

"Have you been out for a walk to-day?” the father 
asked. 

"Yes, sir,” the child replied, as he looked wist- 
fully toward the other children. 

Lasure bent down and kissed his forehead, and, 
loosing his clasp, the child shrank back to his place. 

"Alice,” he said, "will you come and kiss papa?” 

She obediently rose, came, and, without touching 
him, put up her face and kissed his cheek as she 
might have kissed a corpse, then unconsciously 
wiped her lips, and turning, went back to her seat. 

The father was cut to the heart. He came to his 
children for affection and sympathy and found only 
the ashes of the fireside which he had deserted, 
where the light and the warmth had all gone out. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


131 

Despair seemed to nerve him. He must get a re- 
sponse from somwehere in this desert waste which 
surrounded him, and, holding out his arms to his 
youngest child, he said: 

“Norma, come and see papa.” 

The child’s face flushed. She was alarmed. She 
looked toward the door to see if there was any es- 
cape, then turned toward the other children. But 
they were still. The room seemed oppressive. 
She could hardly get her breath. The arms were still 
reaching toward her, and again her father said, 
“Will you come?” 

She rose up, took one step, and then, with a voice 
hoarse with fright, while trembling in every limb, 
she said: 

“I shan’t come. I want my mamma.” And, with 
a wild cry like a wounded bird, she flung herself 
upon the floor in such passionate, convulsive weep- 
ing as alarmed her father and shocked the children, 
who thought of that dreadful evening when their 
mother left them. The older ones looked toward 
Norma, and would quickly have gone to comfort 
her, but they dared not stir. After a little, the father 
realized that he could do nothing — indeed he feared 
to go near the child — and without a word he with- 
drew to the parlor. He thought, “Sure enough, 
your children are not acquainted with you, ” as his 
wife, in bitter taunt, had written in her last note; 


132 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


and he then and there vowed that this state of things 
should exist no longer. 

Aside from the cries of the child which resounded 
through the house, everything was still and desolate. 
The handsome furniture, the brilliant lamp, the 
closed piano, the soft carpet and richly embroidered 
curtains were the same, but the home was gone. 
His wife was he knew not where, and to his children 
he was more than a stranger — he was a terror. He 
did not go out that evening. In fact, the club had 
become distasteful to him. Its frivolities, its rude 
jests and coarse jokes jarred on his nerves. He was 
quiet and constrained in conversation, and this im- 
mediately aroused suspicion that something was 
wrong, and his comrades rallied him on his exceed- 
ing devotion to his conjugal vows, which would not 
permit the absence of his wife for a few weeks with- 
out its arousing his temper and making him a bore 
to his friends. This “absence for a few weeks” had 
been given as an excuse for her sudden disappear- 
ance from the social circle to which she belonged; 
and how to keep up the deception under the sur- 
veillance and questionings, which grew the more 
imperative as they saw a disinclination on his 
part to talk in regard to the subject, was becoming 
a serious problem. But the episode with his children 
this evening had been a revelation to him in many 
respects. A few weeks ago, and the club would have 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


133 


been the first resort by which to banish the whole 
thing from his mind; but to-night he could think of 
nothing more repugnant than an evening amid such 
surroundings, while an unaccountable interest in the 
children possessed him. 

Norma’s cries had ceased long ago, and he went 
quietly to the door of their room and listened. All 
was still, and they were evidently in bed and asleep. 
But what about the morning, when they should awake 
and the scene of the previous evening come to their 
minds? And how to reach the hearts of his chil- 
dren and win their confidence and love, was the ques- 
tion which kept him from sleep until late in the 
night. His business at the office since the death of 
Mr. Belmont had been trivial, for as yet he had not 
had the time or opportunity to secure a large outside 
practice; so his presence at the office was optional 
with himself. He was a fine singer, and at the club 
was considered indispensable on “swell occasions;” 
but for a number of years he had sung very little 
at home. Indeed, his children hardly knew that he 
possessed such an accomplishment. Although not 
a superior musician, yet he could accompany his 
singing in a very creditable manner. All these 
things came to his mind that night. What did he 
care whether he sang well or not, if he could only 
please and attract his children? 

He rose early in the morning and told Mary, the 


134 THE K0DAK WOMAN 

servant, that he should be home to breakfast with 
the children, and he wished to have the table nicely 
arranged in every respect. Mary’s curiosity was 
awakened, and she decided to do her best and await 
developments. Mr. Lasure then went out and got 
flowers for the table and a bouquet for each plate. 
Several kinds of choice fruit were placed in fancy 
dishes and distributed about the table. Mary took 
unusual pains in getting the children ready for 
breakfast, but said nothing, although their curiosity 
was awakened by this new movement. Mr. Lasure, 
while waiting for breakfast to be announced, went 
into the parlor and sat down at the piano and com- 
menced playing some of the old melodies which they 
used to sing when he and Mrs. Lasure were first 
married. The memories which came thronging to 
his mind caused his voice to tremble, while his 
heart beat fast as he forgot the present and went 
on singing, regardless of all around him. The chil- 
dren, first astonished, then delighted, by the sweet 
music so rarely heard, gathered in the hall and, en- 
couraged by Mary, finally crept silently into the 
parlor and sat down near the door. 

And still their father played, while his rich, clear 
voice filled the room with melody and the hearts of 
his children with joy. But Alice, confiding Alice, 
thinking of last evening, and of her lost mother, 
and somehow feeling that there was a tender bond 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


135 


between her father and herself — both were lonely, 
both pining for companionship — came up to his side, 
and quietly putting her arms about his neck, kissed 
his cheek — a warm, loving kiss, so unlike the one 
last night. Lasure was more than surprised, and 
quickly putting his arm around the slender waist, 
turned from the piano and drew her down upon his 
knee and kissed her again and again. Then hold- 
ing out the other hand, he said in an unconcerned 
way: 

“Come here, little folks, and I will tell you where 
we are going after breakfast.” 

Frank, with a sheepish grin, came slowly to his 
father, who placed him on the other knee. 

“Frank,” he said, “did you ever see the big ele- 
phant down in Central Park?” 

“No sir,” he replied, with a wistful look; “how 
big is he?” 

“O, he’s a monster — as large as several horses put 
together. Did you ever see the picture of one?” 

“I don’t know,” he replied. 

“Well, if I had your geography I could show you 
one. Norma, won’t you run and bring papa the 
geography?” And, without looking at the child, 
he continued: “There are monkeys and birds — such 
beautiful birds — there. ” 

Norma now came with the book, and without 
noticing her, he took it from her hand while Alice 


1,36 THE KODAK WOMAN 

put her arm around her neck and coddled her close 
and kissed her chubby little face. 

As Lasure noticed all that passed, he thought, 
“How easy it is to get love for love! But nothing 
can buy it.” 

“But we have not yet had our breakfast,” he said 
briskly, putting the children down from his lap. 

They all started for the dining-room. Norma took 
the lead. The change was a relief to her. She 
remembered the previous evening, and to her per- 
plexed brain the entirely changed conditions this 
morning were not clear. But one thing she knew — 
that last night she was rude to her father and also 
cried, which the other children did not do, and as 
she had looked at the great handsome man talking 
so merrily with Alice and Frank on his lap, she 
wondered how it all could have happened. But with 
a maturity and caution beyond her years, she kept 
in mind what had passed, and looked rather suspi- 
ciously upon the present state of affairs. 

The family passed into the dining-room, which 
was filled with the fragrance of flowers, while the 
table seemed nodding and smiling with bloom and 
beauty. Flowers were Norma’s particular admira- 
tion; and now they captivated her. Astonished and 
delighted, she looked up at her father. Their eyes 
met. None knew what passed in that quick glance, 
but he held out his hands, and she rushed into his 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


*37 


arms, and taking her up, she twined hers about his 
neck, and laying the curly brown head close to his, 
she sobbed: 

“O, I’m so sorry, so sorry!” And thus the con- 
quest was won; and Alexander, when he conquered 
the world, could scarcely have been happier than 
were Lasure and the rest of the family when they 
sat down to breakfast. 

Mr. Lasure referred to the proposed excursion to 
the menagerie, and Frank especially was all interest, 
asking innumerable questions, while his father’s in- 
genious answers only sufficed to awaken renewed 
curiosity. 

The breakfast completed, and each having appro- 
priated their bouquet, Frank, who was stamping 
about impatiently, asked, “How soon shall we go?” 

"Immediately,” his father replied, and the children 
scampered away to get ready. 

Left alone, a pained expression came into Las- 
ure’s face, and, sitting down wearily, he sighed and 
leaned his head upon his hand. 

"Where can she be?” he thought, and it was with 
difficulty that he could refrain from tears. But the 
call, "All ready!” at the front door aroused him, and 
he came with a cheerful, "Hello! ready so soon?" 
And taking Alice by the hand, the two younger 
children leading the way, they started for the street 
cars. Mr. Lasure had told Mary that they should 


138 


THE KODAK MOMAN 


lunch down-town and that she could have the day to 
herself, which brought pleasure to her face and a 
profusion of thanks as his reward. 

And so the entire day was spent in the park sight- 
seeing, and no happier group was there. 


CHAPTER VII. 


The peculiar circumstances connected with Las- 
ure’s domestic affairs in a way cut him off from out- 
side intercourse and hedged him in with his family. 

Mrs. Lasure had not returned, and her husband had 

• •% 

ceased to mention her name; and bold indeed was 
the intruder who would venture to call up the sub- 
ject. But he felt that, notwithstanding their silence, 
people eyed him curiously, and were on the alert to 
learn what was “behind the scenes.” 

This surveillance over his affairs annoyed him 
exceedingly, and he retired within himself, closing 
every avenue against the pitiless attempts to drag 
forth his private matters for public inspection. But 
his children were an endless source of interest as 
well as amusement to him. Alice was his particular 
comfort. She was overflowing with gratitude for 
his presence and companionship, while the heavy 
responsibility of caring for the family she had trans- 
ferred to him. 

Young as she was, she had watched over the other 
children with the anxious care of a patient mother, 
putting aside her own wishes and convenience that 
139 


140 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


they might be pleased and contented. But now, 
somehow she seemed to have gone back into the 
children’s ranks, while referring every matter to her 
father — even suits in her own behalf — for she had 
held herself in abeyance to the children’s dictation 
until they seemed to forget that she had any rights 
of her own. 

Alice’s traits of character were less pronounced 
than either of the others, her forte seeming to be to 
comfort everybody, ®nd demand a great deal of affec- 
tion in return. 

Mr. Lasure had wished Frank to follow the pro- 
fession of law if he should so choose, but at present, 
with his impulsiveness and rashness, it was hard to 
decide whether he would be a lawyer or a lawless — 
a distinguished jurist to decide upon cases, or a 
distinguished case for the jurists to decide upon. 

Norma’s traits of character were less equivocal. 
She possessed her father’s imperious dignity and 
her mother’s cool, adroit shrewdness. She was im- 
patient of control, and her very rebelliousness of 
restraint made her careful to avoid its necessity. 
She was sensitive to criticism, and guarded her 
words and acts so as to avoid it if possible. Of 
course she was too young to analyze these mental 
processes, or to be conscious of any definite plan- 
ning, but, like the instinct of animals, or currents 
in the atmosphere or ocean, her movements were 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


141 - 


governed by the intangible yet forceful, all-pervad- 
ing influence of her own peculiar personality. She 
was never impulsive until the force of circumstances 
had swept away the barriers of self-control, and then 
she gave up to the stormy vehemence of her emo- 
tions, without the power to resist. This was the 
climax reached on that eventful evening of her 
father’s first visit to their room. She was eager for 
information, and, with a comprehension far beyond 
her years, her father found her an agreeable compan- 
ion when he was. inclined to talk in regard to busi- 
ness and any other matters which are not supposed 
to interest or be understood by children. It was 
not that she comprehended the subject, but her ab- 
sorbing desire to do so, which surprised and pleased 
him; and he took great delight in simplifying as far 
as possible, and placing within her grasp, the prob- 
lems with which she was struggling. It was a sort 
of hot-house pressure brought to bear upon a vigor- 
ous plant, which developed a sturdy stalk and abun- 
dance of foliage, but few flowers. She was never 
affectionate, and all her movements seemed to say 
that she had no time to bother with such things. 

And so the days went by, and Lasure had become 
accustomed to his surroundings, and he quite liked 
them. The excitement of the club was gone, and 
now he was never on the qui vive or at his wit’s end 
amid complications, as had often been the case at 


142 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


the club room. But he missed his wife more and 
more; and often, after the children were in bed and 
the house was still, he lay wondering where she 
could be, and how long this uncertainty would con- 
tinue. Her last taunting words had died away with 
the out-going of the artificial and unsatisfactory 
past; and in their place had come again the sweet 
affection and winning ways of their first acquaintance 
and early married life. He saw his own faults, and 
regretted them as never before. 

One afternoon Lasure and the children had gone 
to the park, where, at a short distance from the en- 
trance, was an organ-grinder who had quite a lively 
monkey as an additional attraction. The children 
gathered around, and Lasure, who carried a book in 
his hand, went to a quiet, sheltered seat some dis- 
tance away, and sat down. He was entirely alone, 
as the attraction all seemed to be in other directions. 
He opened his book and was becoming somewhat 
absorbed in its contents, when he heard approach- 
ing footsteps, and, looking up, he saw a woman 
dressed in grey quite near. As he observed her, she 
bowed, saying: 

“Excuse me, but I think I address Mr. Lasure. 
I recognized the children near the entrance.” 

The person was a stranger, but the form was 
familiar, and his thought ran quickly back for a 
clew, and almost immediately the “Kodak Woman” 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


H3 

of hateful memory stood before him. Evidently she 
did not wish to be recognized, and he was equally 
willing to remain incognito, simply bowing, but, as 
she remained standing, he moved to one side and 
offered her a seat. She quietly sat down, every 
movement being characterized with precision. 

“While I was journeying out of the city,” she 
continued, “I saw their mother.” 

Mr. Lasure started, and his face paled as he 
asked, “Where did you see her?” 

“In the country.” 

Mr. Lasure waited, but she said nothing more. 
Presently he asked, “Who was with her?" 

“No one.” 

“Is she well?” 

“Apparently. ” 

Again there was silence, and the woman looked 
away toward where the children were playing, and 
smiled faintly as though enjoying their sport. 

Mr. Lasure was in a tremor of excitement. He 
could not be sure whether this indifference of his 
companion was feigned or real. A thousand sugges- 
tions came to his mind. Had she conversed with 
his wife? Did she know of her plans or her inten- 
tions? Was this woman a spy upon himself, or 
could he trust her? At length he said: 

“Did you speak with her?” 

She turned toward him with a questioning look, 
and with perfect naivete asked, “With whom?" 


144 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


“With — with Mrs. Lasure,” he said, hesitatingly. 

“I did.” And again she looked toward the chil- 
dren, and carelessly toyed with her fan. 

Lasure was desperate. Evidently this woman 
held the key to mysteries which had haunted hi, for 
months. But how should he induce her to reveal 
them to him? He once had an experience with her, 
and the remembrance of it was not encouraging, but 
he determined he would not be baffled again. At 
the previous interview he learned that neither fear 
nor sentiment had any effect upon her, but that she 
was a quick discerner of human feelings, motives, 
and intentions; and, turning toward her, he laid his 
hand upon her arm and in a perfectly frank manner 
said: 

“Madam, you know my wife. Evidently you are 
acquainted with the circumstances which led to her 
sojourn (wherever that may be) away from her home 
and family. But I have a right paramount to all 
others to know all there is to be known in regard to 
herself and her surroundings. ” 

The woman looked at him with an expression in 
her face which suggested a double combination 
burglar-proof lock, and, shaking her arm free from 
his grasp, she replied: 

“I admit all your rights — you certainly have not 
only a right, but a duty, to ascertain all the facts in 
the case. Good-day, sir.” And, bowing, she arose 



For heaven’s sake, don’t leave me in this manner. — Page 146. 




146 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


to leave the Park. But Lasure seized her hand and 
drew her to the seat again, as he exclaimed: 

“Woman, are you mad? For heaven’s sake, don’t 
leave me in this manner. ” 

She sat quietly looking at him. 

“I’ve been a fool," he added, and she nodded 
slightly. “I was naturally imperious, dominant, and 
selfish. I never knew until it was too late, and I 
had lost my kingdom, that love could not exist — 
much less flourish — under such frigid, unsympathetic 
rule. But I believe I am now a different man. I 
have my children back— loyal, loving subjects— and 
I want my wife to share with me the blessings we 
have always overlooked, while grasping for visionary 
ones beyond our reach.” 

The woman looked at him keenly, and said de : 
liberately, “When there has been rebellion and 
revolution, if reconstruction can be effected and am- 
nesty is declared, the belligerents in both parties 
are required to 'let the dead past bury its dead’ and 
forgetfulness forever cover their graves and their 
memories out of sight. ” 

He clearly comprehended her meaning, and, 
grasping her hand, he replied: 

“It shall be even as you say, for it might be diffi- 
cult to tell to which it might be most dangerous to 
have it otherwise." 

Just here the children came trooping toward 


THE KODAK WOMAN 1 47 

them. The woman arose and bowing, walked rap- 
idly away. 

Lasure was not only disappointed and pained, 
but dumfounded. He had not learned a thing in 
regard to the subject which was of all-absorbing 
interest to him, but had simply given himself away 
to his strange visitor, and she had departed, hold- 
ing not only the mysteries in reference to his wife 
unrevealed, but his own heart secrets, locked in her 
determined, merciless grasp. 

As the children came up, Alice observed the dis- 
turbed expression in her father’s countenance, and, 
ever mindful of his happiness, she came to his side 
and leaning against him, put her arm about his 
neck and softly smoothed his cheek. He drew her 
down and kissed her fondly, feeling that he had her 
at least, while tears came to his eyes. Norma, 
whose quick perception observed something unusual 
in the situation, stood looking down, quietly kick- 
ing the grassy turf at her feet. Her father said: 

“Norma, why do you never come and kiss papa?” 

The child, feeling the rebuke in his voice, and 
thinking that somehow she must be to blame, came 
slowly to his side and laid her hand upon his shoul- 
der, and with a puzzled look, stood still for a mo- 
ment, and then, with a queer expression of pleasure 
and triumph in her eyes while looking into his face, 
replied: 


148 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


"I don’t like your kisses, but I do like to hear 
you talk. ” 

Her father smiled at the unconscious innocence 
yet truthfulness of the answer, and giving her a 
little squeeze of approbation, they all returned in 
the best of spirits to the house. 

A short time after this occurrence in the park, 
Mr. Lasure was sitting one afternoon in the parlor 
reading. The children were in their room, playing 
school. They opened with singing, followed by 
rather a stormy declamation by Frank, and a quiet 
rebuke from Alice to Norma for laughing. They 
were across the hall, and Mr. Lasure smiled as he 
caught the spirit of mirthfulness from their animated 
voices. Just here the door-bell rang, and Mary came 
to admit the visitors. Knowing that Mr. Lasure 
was in the parlor, she pushed back the partially 
closed door for their entrance, and returned to 
her work. 

The visitors were closely veiled. One passed into 
the room, and the other closed the door behind her 
and immediately withdrew from the house. It was 
Mrs. Lasure who had entered the room, and we 
must not follow. There are things which descrip- 
tions spoil — ruin. There are scenes which by pen 
or pencil can never be reproduced. They have no 
duplicates. Each is a new creation — definite, 
sacred, imperishable — to the heart to which it ap- 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


149 


peals, but meaningless to all others. Over such 
moments only the Shekinah hovers, and all the world 
beside remains in the outer court. What passed 
between the husband and wife in that interview none 
ever knew, and how long it continued none kept 
account. 

At length, Mr. Lasure left the room and sent 
Mary to inform the children that their mother was 
in the parlor and wished to see them. She went to 
their room, delivered her message, and went out, 
closing the door behind her. Frank — impulsive 
Frank — with a shout and clapping of hands, dis- 
appeared in the direction of the parlor, where he 
rushed into his mother’s arms, hugging and kissing 
her almost to suffocation, laughing, and in the most 
endearing terms declaring his joy at seeing her. 
Finally, as she held him close, he sat down upon 
her lap and, without knowing why, commenced cry- 
ing as he leaned against her shoulder. 

At the announcement of her mother’s arrival, 
Alice rose up, her face flushed and paled, and she 
trembled so that she could with difficulty stand. 
But finally, with a great effort, she went out to meet 
her. She entered the room just as Frank began to 
cry, and coming quickly forward, she put her arms 
around her mother’s neck and kissed her long and 
fondly. At last, looking at her with eyes and face 
full of affection and joy, she said: 


150 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


“O, my dear, dear mamma, I am so glad — so 
glad! ” 

But where was Norma all this time? When she 
learned that her mother had come, instantly all her 
instincts of self-poise came to the front. She re- 
membered the scene at her going away, also the 
night when her father came to their room, and a 
few other instances when she had lost control of her- 
self, and she decided that at this time she would 
keep herself well in hand. Meanwhile, the dread 
of making a scene petrified her emotions beyond 
the power to disturb the surface placidity. But she 
did so long to see her mother. If she could only 
have the interview somehow without her or any 
other of the family being present, what a relief it 
would be! 

She was very white, very stately and self-con- 
tained when she entered the room and came to greet 
her mother, who, observing her entrance, held out 
her hand, while her eyes beamed with fondest affec- 
tion as she drew her “baby” to her and kissed her 
fervently. Norma returned the salutation with a 
courtly grace, so frigid and devoid of emotion that 
Mrs. Lasure was surprised and pained, fearing that 
her youngest child could never forgive the cruel de- 
sertion which left her to be cared for as best she 
might. It was just retribution, she thought, for the 
unpardonable sin of betraying a trust which death 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


1 51 

only could cancel. She felt like dropping on her 
knees and with sobs and tears begging for forgive- 
ness. But Mr. Lasure, seeing the situation, and 
having learned a great deal by his own bitter ex- 
perience, came to the rescue and, laying his hand 
on Norma’s shoulder, he said: 

“Our little girl has grown quite queenly, but that 
is not all. She has become a very sensible, prac- 
tical, and useful individual, and you will soon find 
her indispensable to the household arrangements. 
But I think we have all been improving, and I am 
sure that when we get acquainted we shall be very 
happy indeed. ” 

Thus all embarrassment was removed, and the de- 
lighted mother was almost overwhelmed with their 
attentions. Supper was now served, and as Mrs. 
Lasure took her place once more at the table, her 
emotions were so great and so conflicting, that it 
was with difficulty that she could preside over the 
tea-urn. 

The Belmont estate was at last settled, and Lasure 
received his legacy of twenty-five thousand dollars. 
The bitter experiences which had come to him in 
the past, largely through his own willfulness, had 
taught him many practical lessons; but with his 
new life, which seemed almost like a new creation, 
he longed for new surroundings, new scenery, new in- 


152 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


spirations. The old city, with its monotony of brick 
buildings and paved streets, with its roar and confu- 
sion, had lost its attractions. The club was a thing 
of the past, while the circumstances connected with 
his leaving it would forever preclude its being any- 
thing but a detestation and a dread. 

One afternoon near the close of summer he came 
into the parlor and found his wife sitting with her 
hands idly folded and an expression of intense long- 
ing on her face. As he came forward she smiled, 
and drawing a chair which stood near still closer, 
she said, as he took the seat indicated: 

“I wish to tell you what I was just thinking about. 
I seem to have lost all interest in this city. We 
have seen almost everything within its limits, and 
I begin to feel like a prisoner who has examined 
every inch of his cell, has counted the nail heads 
in the door, the scratches on the wall, and the cob- 
webs in the corners, and now longs for freedom or 
new quarters. ” 

Lasure was surprised and gratified. 

“But really, my dear,” he asked, “toward what 
portion of this globe or some other are your thoughts 
tending, when New York, one of the largest, finest 
cosmopolitan cities on the globe, has become a 
prison, whose attractions you compare to ‘counting 
nail heads, scratches, and cobwebs’ for diversion? 
Evidently your request for a change will be a 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


153 


very modest one — for instance, ‘the earth and the 
fullness thereof, the sea and all that dwells therein. ’ ” 
And he took the hand which lay on the arm of his 
chair and commenced pulling the rings from the 
fingers. 

“Stop that,” she said, “and listen to me. Where 
could any one go but West?” 

“Well suggested,” he replied. “I came purposely 
to talk in regard to this subject. I, like yourself, 
am tired of remaining here. The great West, which 
to me means all that lies beyond the Mississippi, 
has always called to me with a voice which meant K 
broader fields and better opportunities in all depart- 
ments. There is an inspiration and freshness in its 
vast territories, its rugged, romantic scenery, its 
rapid growth, with its railroads, which seem to 
pierce to all heights, or depths, or distances, while 
their whistle startles the solitudes, whose echoes, 
dying away, leave them the eternal solitudes still.” 

They talked for some time, planning and arranging, 
and finally concluded to remove to the West early 
in the coming fall. California was the objective 
point, and San Francisco was to be the final termi- 
nus. All the preliminaries for a journey are inter- 
esting, and not the least so are the conjectures in 
regard to the country toward which our footsteps 
fare. To Lasure, San Francisco was attractive 
largely because it was the chief city of California, 


154 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


and therefore the center around which rotated the 
legal light of that country; and we will not say that 
the ambition of becoming one of these luminaries 
was not only a vision of his slumbers but also of 
his waking hours. 

By Mrs. Lasure the change was anticipated with 
equal pleasure, although from a different standpoint. 
Even in her school days the geographical descrip- 
tions and pictures of that wonderful country had 
charmed her to forget her lessons while she sat try- 
ing to imagine what it was like unto. And now the 
possibility of seeing this great western wprld was 
as the realization of one of the most enchanting 
dreams of her life; while the children were happy, 
in view of a change, whether it boded good or ill, 
neither knowing or stopping to care. 

At last the preparations were completed, and the 
time arrived for the family to bid adieu to New 
York, the great city in which their lives had thus 
far been spent. It was the afternoon of a bright 
September day when the long train steamed out 
from the Grand Central Depot and commenced its 
progress westward. The journey was one of intense in- 
terest to our travelers, with its rapidly changing scen- 
ery, from the vast prairies whose wide expanse was 
only bounded by the distant horizon, to the mighty 
mountains and on through the sublime and awful 
grandeur of their rugged passes, wild with strange 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


155 


and startling desolations. But the journey was soon 
completed, and San Francisco, the city of the Golden 
Gate, the metropolis of the Pacific coast, the home 
of many millionaires, and the Mecca toward which 
our travelers journeyed, was reached at last; and here 
they stopped at the Occidental Hotel until they 
could arrange for a permanent location. California 
Street was finally selected as desirable for its eleva- 
tion and fine views, being also one of the most fash- 
ionable residence streets in the city. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Fred Belmont Montpier sailed for Scotland on the 
day in which the Belmont will was admitted to pro- 
bate. The weariness attendant upon the preparation 
for the trip, together with the peculiar circumstances 
by which he was surrounded, had a depressing in- 
fluence upon his mind, and again there came back 
the old perplexity in regard to his personality. Had 
he lost his identity? or had he become two individ- 
uals? Was he a nonentity or a duplicate? All he 
knew of life he had experienced as a person who, 
although not dead, had ceased to exist. His inter- 
view with Nora had changed * his destiny, for the 
fatal pre-natal mark had stamped the recital as true, 
and the strange history as his own. Therefore to 
him the past was lost and the future uncertain. He 
felt like a stranger to himself, while at the same 
time he knew not a person on shipboard. 

He went on deck and looked westward out upon 
the ocean. But he saw no gateway or lofty portal 
— no sign in the unbroken, far-away horizon by 
which to tell where the ship had entered this great 
girdled space of shining sky and sea and silence. 
He looked eastward, but it was the same monoto- 


156 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


157 


nous belt of sky and water, apparently the combina- 
tion of two mighty forces which could forever hold 
in their awful clasp whatever craft should invade 
this sky-girt circle. So his life seemed to him. He 
had passed out of the old, leaving no trace behind, 
and was going toward the new, without invitation 
or opportunity or space left for him in the unbroken 
circle of society. 

These thoughts crowded upon his mind with a 
bewildering, paralyzing force, and he said to him- 
self: “I must take time. I must become acquainted 
with my new self before I seek the acquaintance of 
others. ” 

In contemplation of the equivocal position which 
he occupied, he had nearly lost sight of the fact that 
the situation might be equally embarrassing in con- 
nection with his father. When he embarked for 
Scotland his whole thought was occupied with the 
problem of finding him; but now, as he realized it 
would be but a few days before he should reach his 
destination, the subject presented itself in a prac- 
tical form for solution. The address on the photo- 
graph suggested to his mind that he ascertain at 
Edinburgh the address of those by the name of 
Douglas who received their mail from that city. 
But if he should not find the name there, then — 
what next? He had no further clew to his father’s 
identity. If he made inquiries, he instantly subjected 


158 THE KODAK WOMAN 

himself to the necessity of relating his whole history 
or being considered an adventurer, a fraud, or vil- 
lain. He also comprehended that a man of his per- 
sonnel would be expected to give a very favorable 
and intelligent account of himself in regard to par- 
entage, advantages, and superior training, which 
would be irreconcilable with the fact that he was 
about the country in search of his father, whom he 
had never seen, and had nothing by which to identify 
him, except a name. 

He turned the question over in his mind and ex- 
amined it from every point, while its gravity only 
increased with the inspection. The history of his 
father and mother, and her early death, with the 
melancholy circumstances attending it; his infancy, 
with the mysteries it involved, and the indubitable 
proof of which he bore in his own person, together 
with the photograph of his parents, which he ever 
carried next his heart-— should all these sacred mem- 
ories and memorials be given up to the public, like 
pearls cast before swine? “Never!” he said. “I 
will die guarding them, but I will never surrender. ” 

This decision reached, he now turned to the main 
question, which he settled very quickly. “I will 
travel about the country, and in cities and towns I 
will get the address of the inhabitants, and, some- 
how, somewhere, I shall succeed." 

It was only a short time after this decision that 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


159 


he reached his destination and commenced his jour- 
neyings in Scotland, that historic and picturesque 
country, whose mountains rise in lofty broken ranges, 
enclosing glens or valleys famous for the wild beauty 
and grandeur of their scenery. Its lakes are numer- 
ous, romantic and picturesque, and are celebrated 
in story and in song. It is noted for its castles, the 
most famous of which are Edinburgh, Stirling, and 
Dumbarton. Its authors are unrivaled in history, 
romance, or in ballad; and its legendry is unsur- 
passed by any country in the world. It is a land 
where superstition grows spontaneously amid the 
wierd surroundings of glen and cave and castle and 
lofty mountain peaks familiar only to the eagles and 
the winds. 

Montpier reached Edinburgh late in the day, 
where he selected quiet quarters for his short stay. 
When he went to his room he carefully reviewed his 
plans for the campaign before him, and then, weary 
with the voyage and the intense mental strain which 
he had undergone, he retired soon and slept pro- 
foundly. He woke early, and, after a light breakfast, 
hurried to the post-office, where he asked permis- 
sion to examine the mail list containing the initial 
letter D. The official courteously complied with 
this unusual request, much interested in the appli- 
cant, whose appearance at once announced him as 
a distinguished personage from abroad. Montpier 


i6o 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


went over the document carefully, and then asked 
to see the city directory. This also was produced’ 
and submitted for his inspection. But he found 
nothing in either which served as a clew to the case 
in hand. The postman had watched him with much 
interest, and finally said: 

“Maybe it is some of your relations you wish to 
find?” 

Montpier’s eyes flashed. The hateful, prying curi- 
osity which he so much dreaded had commenced 
already; and, looking at the man with his eyes still 
gleaming, he said: 

“Maybe it is, but whether or not, I shall not call 
on you to inform me.” 

The man was surprised and disconcerted for a 
moment, but his Scotch temper slowly rose as he 
replied, “It is equally difficult to tell a gentleman 
sometimes, and I think I was sold when I placed 
myself and the books in the office at your conve- 
nience and found you only a polished fraud. ” And 
quickly gathering up the books, he replaced them 
and returned to wait on others. 

Montpier left the office, deeply humiliated by his 
own ungentlemanly conduct, while comprehending 
more fully than ever the difficulty of the task which 
he had undertaken. He walked rapidly southward 
until he had reached the suburbs of the city, and, 
as he passed out into the more sparsely settled dis- 


THE KODAK WOMAN l6l 

trict, he slackened his pace and went leisurely along. 

It was a perfect day in early summer. There was 
a cool breeze from the west. Fleecy clouds floated 
in the sky; there were song-birds in the trees, and 
grass and heather carpeted the glens and sloping hills 
in every direction, while the tall indentured summit 
of the Pentland Hills rose in the distance. 

Montpier walked on for a long time, until he 
reached a small glen which stretched back between 
the low hills and bluffs toward the distant moun- 
tains. He sat down on a projecting rock near its 
entrance, beneath a thorn tree which sheltered him 
from the sun. He was much fatigued; and remov- 
ing his hat, he pushed back the damp locks from his 
forehead and wiped the perspiration from his face 
and hands, and then, leaning back against the tree, 
he looked toward the silent hills. Presently he 
heard the tramp of horses coming swiftly down the 
glen, and saw three men riding rapidly toward him. 
As they came near, he rose and stood, hat in hand, 
well back from the path which they were pursuing, 
but they halted as they observed him, and the fore- 
most rider lifted his hat and came close to where 
Montpier was standing. But the horses were rest- 
less, champing the bit and pawing daintily at the 
ground; so the stranger told the other two to ride 
down to the next glen and wait for him there; and 
then, with a sharp stroke of the whip on the sleek, 


1 62 THE KODAK WOMAN 

glossy side of his coal-black steed, he said, "Be 
still,” and the horse remained quiet. 

Montpier had watched the man closely; in fact, 
he had hardly taken his eyes from his face since he 
drew rein in front of him. He was sure he had seen 
this person before. The expression of his counte- 
nance and the eyes were a perfect picture in his 
mind; and he felt confident that at the next moment 
he would be able to place it. But he could not, 
and it remained only a picture still. 

The stranger turned to Montpier with slight em- 
barrassment in his manner, saying: 

"I presume you are a stranger in these parts, al- 
though your countenance seems familiar to me. ” 

Montpier started, and he felt his face flush, but 
the speaker continued: 

"O, I think I have it now. Were you not in Ed- 
inburgh several years ago with young Berwick at a 
public demonstration in reference to some matters 
connected with the baronetcy?” 

Montpier felt relieved, and, with a musical laugh, 
replied, "Yes, I remember it well. ” 

At this the listener turned as pale as his sunburnt 
countenance would permit; and then, observing that 
his companion was surprised at his apparent emo- 
tion, he added apologetically: 

"Excuse me, but you remind me so much of a 
friend that I have not seen for years, that when I 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


163 


hear you laugh and look into your eyes I can with 
difficulty conceal my emotions. It was this unac- 
countable resemblance which attracted my attention 
the first time I saw you.” And, both slightly bow- 
ing, they dismissed the subject. The stranger looked 
at his watch and said: 

"It is a long way back to Edinburgh, and, with 
your consent, you will dine with me to-day at Glen- 
loch Castle.” And, with a roguish smile he added, 
“We all live in castles here in Scotland, which must 
seem very strange to you Americans.” 

Montpier looked surprised, which the gentleman 
observing, explained: “Berwick told me that you 
were from Amercia. " Then he continued, “Our 
castles sometimes are such only in name; but we 
love them just the same, with their long lineal de- 
scent, including histories and mysteries and titles 
and estates which we can trace back through many 
generations and on down,” — but here he ceased 
speaking fora moment, and then in a subdued voice 
added, “to a sudden termination. ” 

When he gave the invitation for Montpier to 
accompany him, without waiting for a reply, he dis- 
mounted, and they walked down the road, leading 
the spirited but now docile animal by their side. 
They went silently along, each being engrossed with 
his own thoughts. Soon they came to the ravine 
where the other horsemen were waiting. Here 


164 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


Montpier’s host said to one of the attendants, for 
such they seemed to be: 

“Help this gentleman to mount your horse, as he 
has had a long walk already this morning, and I am 
sure you will not mind the walk back, as you can 
take the shore cut through the dell. But don’t stay 
too long/’ he added, with a mischievous smile, “or 
you will hinder Molly from getting dinner, don’t 
you see?” And evidently the young man saw, for 
his face brightened as only a love-lit face can do, 
and, turning abruptly fo hide his embarrassment, 
he struck into a narrow, deep defile which led in a 
different direction from the glen. 

The horsemen rode leisurely along for a short time, 
to the evident disgust of the impatient steeds, who 
minced their steps and tossed their heads, protest- 
ing against thfe tightened rein which checked their 
speed. 

“Are you something of an equestrian?” queried 
his host of Montpier, who nodded assent. “Well, 
then, we will ride on;” and, slackening the reins, 
the horses struck into a long, swinging lope, charac- 
teristic of the speed and ease of the genuine saddle 
horse. After a little they came to a broad, beauti- 
ful valley, whose sides sloped outward in low ter- 
raced bluffs. Higher up were woodlands, and, still 
farther on, the broken grey summit of the hills. 
Some way up the valley the bluffs curved inward 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


165 

and jagged rocks showed through the clinging vines 
and mosses which partially covered and beautified 
their seared and rocky faces. In this narrowed 
opening was a gigantic gateway of stone, while the 
space between this and the bluffs on either side was 
filled with a thick, high, impassable thorn hedge, 
and on the high arch above the gateway was carved 
in bold, deep letters the name “Douglas.” 

Montpier observed these surroundings as they 
stopped a short distance from the gate, while his 
host sounded a small silver horn which hung at his 
girdle. As he read the name over the gate, the 
miniature and the face beside him he recognized as 
one; and suddenly all the tension of nerve which 
had supported him during the past few weeks de- 
serted him, and he would have fallen, had he not 
clung to the horn of the saddle for support. He 
felt almost sure that his mission would terminate 
inside of this gate which was now opening for their 
admission; and as he rode forward, the feeling of 
joy and relief was so great that an intense pain 
filled his heart, while, dizzy and blind and almost 
suffocated with the joyful revulsion of feelings, he 
allowed the horse to carry him whither it chose. 
But this mental condition lasted but a few moments, 
and he was himself again. 

The black steed which evidently carried the 
owner of this valuable estate seemed to have experi- 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


1 66 

enced a change equally with Montpier, but presuma- 
bly from a very different cause. As soon as he was 
inside the gate he commenced a series of gymnastic 
exercises wholly incompatible with the conduct of a 
well trained animal. He opened the entertainment 
by a few premonitory nods and shakes of the head, 
and then introduced the principal act by whirling 
around a few times, after which he endeavored to 
walk on two feet at a time. But which of the two 
he might finally select was uncertain, as he changed 
from one pair to the other with much rapidity and 
such bewildering leaps in the air that his rider clung 
to the saddle with all his might, while, whip in 
hand, he lashed the shining coat of this astonished 
athlete into ridges of dust and foam. The perform- 
ance ended in inglorious defeat to the horse, for the 
rider kept his seat and came out triumphant from 
the contest. 

“You never can trust him,” the victor said, smil- 
ing, “although he looks so demure, for he is like 
the 

' “ . . . little girl who had a little curl 

Down in the middle of her forehead; 

For when she was good she was awful, awful good, 

And when she was bad she was horrid.” ’ 

But the episode had a beneficial effect upon 
Montpier, as it diverted his thoughts, and he found 
himself quite rested when it was over. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


167 


The scene inside the gate was beautiful beyond 
description. Nature and art had combined through 
generations to make it what he now beheld. The 
valley widened rapidly, while the drive turned to the 
left and wound down near the foot of the bluff. The 
terraces along the side grew narrower, and finally 
ceased altogether, while the hills rose steep and, 
near their summits, precipitous, with almost inac- 
cessible overhanging crags and rocks, wild and 
desolate in the extreme. From one of these lofty 
peaks a small cascade poured headlong downward for 
several hundred feet, then, striking upon a broad shelf 
of projecting rock, was dashed into spray and foam, 
which floated like a cloud of mist down to a declivity 
below, consisting of a large space of stone and peb- 
bles. Here the perpetual moisture had induced a 
luxuriant growth of flags and mosses and water 
grasses, with numerous aquatic flowers, and for yards 
down the slope it was radiant with glossy foliage and 
blooms. At the foot was a miniature lake, evi- 
dently the reservoir of this mountain torrent, al- 
though it had no apparent inlet or outlet, but lay 
like a mirror, reflecting the beauty above and around 
it. Flocks of aquatic birds haunted this romantic 
spot and fed upon the numerous insects which har- 
bored among the moist and mossy stones. 

Montpier was wholly abstracted by these surround- 
ings, as they had been riding slowly since they came 


i68 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


through the gate, but, recollecting himself, he 
turned slightly and became aware that his host was 
narrowly inspecting his countenance. Shaking off 
the half sad revery into which he had fallen, Mont- 
pier addressed himself to his companion: 

“This is a delightful place, and I am truly grate- 
ful for the cordial invitation which has allowed 
me the pleasure of visiting it.” 

The gentleman smiled and looked up the valley, 
anti Montpier, turning his eyes in the same direc- 
tion, saw in the distance a castle situated in the 
shelter of a wide, low grotto or semicircle of pic- 
turesque rocks projecting from the hillside. It stood 
upon an artificial mound which descended so nat- 
urally and gradually to the level of the valley that 
its elevation only added to the apparent height of 
the castle, which was constructed of grey undressed 
quarry stone. Its trimmings were a light creamy 
shade of cut stone, some of which were carved in 
mythological characters. Its style of architecture 
was uncertain, seeming to unite the massive with 
the elegant, regardless of the age or school to which 
it might have originally belonged. Evidently there 
had been many additions, elaborating and beautifying 
the structure, since it was first erected. A wide 
drive enclosed with a low hedge ran quite around 
the castle, separating it from the walls of the grotto, 
within whose wide-spread sheltering arms it stood. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 169 

On a broad tablet high over the entrance was carved 
the name “Glenloch Castle.” 

At the entrance they dismounted, the horses being 
left to the attendant and groom, while Montpier fol- 
lowed his host into the spacious hall and then into 
a side apartment which had the appearance of be- 
ing a waiting or reception room. It was small in 
comparison with the hall, but much more desirable 
for a quiet conference than the immense apartments 
suggested by the proportions of the castle, and was 
handsomely furnished in modern style. Here the 
gentlemen took seats, while an embarrassing pause 
followed — one not begotten by the absence of 
thought, but by thoughts too intense and feelings too 
profound, yet too uncertain, to admit of expression 
in a commonplace manner. Each occupant of the 
room was absorbed with the desire to know the his- 
tory of the other, but Douglas was aware that as 
host he must break this oppressive silence in some 
way. He rang the bell, and turning to his guest, 
said: 

“My sister is my housekeeper and my companion, 
and I wish to introduce you to her;” then, telling 
the servant who answered the summons to inform 
his mistress that he wished to see her, he continued, 
“She is my youngest sister, and we are greatly at- 
tached to each other, as my father and mother are 
dead and my other sister is married and, of course, 
in a home of her own.” 


170 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


At this point a woman bearing a strong resem- 
blance to Douglas, although younger than he, en- 
tered, and was introduced as his sister, Hinda 
Douglas. There was a mirthful expression in her 
eyes, but lines of firmness, which' easily might de- 
velop into obstinacy, about the mouth and chin. 
She was frank and cordial in her greeting, assuring 
Montpier of her pleasure at his presence. “For 
you know,” she added, “that castles, if not kept well 
occupied, have great attraction for their ancestry, 
who come to them at most undesirable times; which 
makes our legendry so full of uncanny things. But 
I can assure you,” she continued, with a bright 
laugh, which exposed a handsome set of natural 
teeth, “that, for some reason, we have never been 
favored with their visits.” 

Montpier smiled his thanks for this gracious hos- 
pitality, but replied that, while his presence might 
protect them from these ghostly visitors, yet it 
would militate against the accomplishment of one 
object of his visit to this country — that of seeing 
these phantom folk and learning their habits and 
occupation. 

“O, ” she replied, “if you wish, I can tell you all 
about them. I have studied their genealogy, and 
I know their habits and history, namely: The older 
the castle, the more they are at home. They always 
hold their conclaves between midnight and the first 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


171 

streak of dawn. Black, stormy nights are their de- 
light, and they are always abroad at such times. 
They dress in shadows and walk with the tic-tac 
tread resembling the touch of tree branches against 
the wall, while their voices are so like the shrieks 
of the gale, that none can tell which does the wail- 
ing; and the last is, that rats — genuine rats— are 
invaluable accessories to their troop .’ 1 

Douglas was astonished, not to say shocked, at 
the free and careless manner in which his sister 
talked to this stranger — this man whose very pres- 
ence held all of his feelings in check, and stirred 
him with emotions which he could not fathom. Be- 
sides, what she said seemed so frivolous, so out of 
place, like the babbling of a brook when we are 
listening for the distant booming of the ocean. But 
he could not think of a syllable to say. He felt 
dazed by thoughts which he found no opportunity 
or power to express. "Truly,” he thought, "the 
shallows murmur while the deeps are dumb.” Just 
here, to his immense relief, dinner was announced, 
and they all repaired to the dining-room. 

It was a large, low room, paneled in oak, with 
table and chairs and a huge sideboard of the same 
kind of wood. On this were antique china and ster- 
ling silver dishes, heirlooms from generations back. 
The windows were numerous, but their setting in 
the deep walls prevented to some extent the free 


172 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


admission of light which characterizes more modern 
mansions, and to their guest it had rather a gloomy 
appearance. Hinda presided over the coffee-urn, 
while the butler carved, and Douglas served the 
table. There was a freedom and restfulness in her 
presence which was acceptable to Montpier, and 
the light, bantering conversation was kept up dur- 
ing the dinner hour; but Douglas was nearly silent, 
with an expression on his face which none could 
interpret. When the meal was over, he led the 
way into the library, a large room on the second 
floor, whose windows overlooked the drive for a long 
way down the valley. The room was finished in 
black walnut, and all the furniture was to match. 
There were several large bookcases filled with vol- 
umes, and rows of shelves also filled with books, in 
the rear part of the room. A wide couch with in- 
viting cushions and foot-rest near by suggested com- 
fort for the student or lounger. A grate was oppo- 
site the entrance which was filled with branches of 
fir and evergreen whose balsamic fragrance filled the 
apartment. 

Douglas drew an easy chair near, which he mo- 
tioned Montpier to take, while he reclined upon 
the couch with his arm supported by the pillows, 
his feet upon the rest, and a look of anxiety and 
exhaustion in his face. 

"Montpier,” he said, "you are a stranger to me, 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


173 


and yet I feel as though I had known you in the 
past. If I believed in theosophy,” he added, with 
a faint smile, “I should think you had been my 
companion in the pre-historic ages of my unknown 
existence. I can endure this suspense no longer. I 
am worn out with uncertainty and conjecture," and 
there was a pathetic pleading in his voice, all unlike 
the strong man who rode down the glen in the 
morning. "If you are at liberty to do so, tell me 
all about yourself.” 

"The first that I remember," Montpier said, com- 
mencing without preface, "is of living with my father 
in a handsome home in the north of New York City. 
I had no mother, as she had died . in my early in- 
fancy, and when I became older my father took me 
to Greenwood Cemetery and showed me her tomb. 
A. marble monument marked the place, and I re- 
member that the spot was very beautiful, with vel- 
vety turf, ornamental shrubs and blossoms. My 
father was very kind to me, providing everything 
for my comfort and happiness, except the great 
abounding love for which in my childhood I hun- 
gered every hour. I revered him as a superior be 
ing, and yielded the obedience which that feeling 
inspired; but my childhood was dreary in that ele- 
gant but desolate home, and at times I longed for 
my mother with an intensity which was agony in 
its helplessness. 


174 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


“My school days brought relief, and to me were a 
very happy period; and when they were over, the 
dread of remaining in that stately, quiet home was 
like a return to prison. I had one uncle — a brother 
to my mother — and my father consented to my mak- 
ing my uncle a long visit. I had seen him several 
times, and, although I admired his kindly face and 
manner, yet I was under a restraint which repressed 
all my impulsive emotions, and he only knew me as 
a shy, retiring child who seemed to have nothing 
in common with any one. But my school days had 
removed this restraint, and I felt that Uncle Bel- 
mont and myself would be the best of friends if I 
could only meet him again. Therefore it was with 
great delight that I hastened to his home, and I was 
not disappointed in the results, and I came to love 
him as I had never loved before. ” Montpier’s voice 
trembled slightly as he added: “But he died a few 
months ago, and I only can know how much of lone- 
liness and sorrow that event brought to me.” 

Here Montpier ceased, and Douglas, who had 
been sitting with closed eyes, intently listening, 
looked up and said, “Go on, please; I am anxious 
to hear all,” and, shutting his eyes again, he leaned 
back on his cushion. 

Montpier added: “There is not much more for 
me to tell. After my visit to my uncle, I immedi- 
ately went on a long tour to Europe, my father seem- 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


175 


ing perfectly satisfied with my absence from home. 
After some time spent in travel, I returned to my 
uncle last fall, and at that time, for the first, I 
learned my own history.” • 

Montpier now took from his pocket a package of 
manuscript and handed it to Douglas, who took it 
mechanically as Montpier continued: “This will 
tell you all, and also explain the reason why I can- 
not continue the narration. I will leave you now, 
and, with your permission, will walk in the grounds 
surrounding the castle; and if at any time you’ wish 
my presence, you have only to summon me.” And 
bowing, he withdrew. 

Douglas was dazed for a moment with the situa- 
tion, but, arousing himself, he commenced an exam- 
ination of the documents in his hand. Montpier 
went out into the grounds adjacent to the building, 
and walked up the glen beyond the castle. Here 
the main drive had ceased, and only a path led out 
into the grounds. The valley stretched away for 
some distance, and it seemed more like a picturesque 
landscape than the private lawns belonging to a res- 
idence. Paths led in various directions through 
small groves, by clumps of flowering shrubbery; 
and occasionally a bed of hardy perennial plants 
brightened and beautified the scene with their varie- 
gated blossoms. Birds sang in the trees or trilled 
from the evergreens on the mountain side, while 


176 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


the bees and insects droned drowsily among the 
nodding flowers. 

Montpier walked on until he reached a narrow, 
rocky, steep defile which rose abruptly toward the 
mountain, and here the valley of Glenloch termi- 
nated. A mountain torrent came tumbling down 
this precipitous descent, until, with much ado of 
noise and foam and eddying, it reached the level of 
the plain and wound quietly away at the foot of the 
hill. Montpier now turned back toward the castle, 
and the question came very definitely, could he be 
satisfied with all Glenloch could offer, with its castle 
and its broad, magnificent estate, its noble ancestry 
and romantic legendry, its nobility and its title, 
and, last of all, its peace and quiet — an unbroken 
rest from the tumultuous warring of circumstances 
and uncertainties which had harassed his mind dur- 
ing the past few months? He reviewed his past 
life — his lonely childhood, his happy school days, 
his travels, with their broadening, deepening, in- 
spiring influence, and then his delightful stay with 
his Uncle Belmont. He thought of society also, 
with its witcheries, its fascinations, its conquests, 
and its delicious captivities, where one yields to 
emotions which thrill the being like the ecstatic 
hallucinations of a stupifying drug. Yet, strange to 
say, he was undecided. His experience with society 
had been but transient, yet it included a wide range 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


1 77 


of its possibilities, which he had reason to remem- 
ber not only with a thrill of delight, but also with 
intense regret. It was over now, and he looked 
back upon it as might a picket who, left on guard, 
had been in awful danger but had escaped unharmed, 
but now this memory is one of the treasures of his 
life, which he would not barter, and of which no 
one can rob him. 

Strange, the mysteries and the inconsistencies 
of the human heart! Mortals stand with awful ter- 
ror, blended with unutterable longing and delight, 
upon the verge of the dizzy cliff, while the devouring 
surges call to them from the abyss beneath, and in 
the new, strange ecstasy of the moment they long 
to throw themselves into the arms of the waiting 
sirens, who smile and beckon from the foam be- 
neath, while if they go down, they go to endless 
degradation or endless regret. But if they turn 
away, the memory of these perilous moments they 
live over and over again, as one of the enchant- 
ments of their lives. 

Montpier had been absent from the house a long 
time — much longer than he realized. The sun had 
passed behind the high cliff to the westward, and 
lengthening shadows began to stretch across the 
valley. He walked more rapidly, and soon met one 
of the servants, who said, “Mr. Douglas wishes to 
see you. ” 


i 7 8 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


He was not long in reaching the house, and, has- 
tily ascending to the library, he entered without 
ceremony and closed the door behind him. He was 
startled at the dull agony in the countenance of 
Douglas as he reached out his hand, which Mont- 
pier took in his own, while he knelt at the couch 
on which the stricken man was lying. 

“I know it all,” he said feebly, “and I am crushed. 
I never once thought that she could die without 
my seeing her again. I cannot tell you all the effort 
I have made to find her. No wonder I did not suc- 
ceed. Death had already claimed her, and a pau- 
per’s grave sheltered her when she was deserted by 
all others. Coward, miscreant that I was to forsake 
her in the supreme hour of destiny, when there 
comes into woman’s life the awe, the mystery, and 
the terror of maternity — alone in the great, over- 
shadowing solemnity of a new experience fraught 
with uncertainty, with apprehension, and dismay; 
given over to strangers, while pursued by a relent- 
less fate from which there is no escape save through 
agonies which are twin to the torments of hell; for- 
saken by her husband, robbed of her child as she 
lay at the gates of death; heartbroken, murdered, 
my own, my beautiful, my precious wife. I pray 
not for forgiveness. There is no mercy for such as 
I. The avenger is coming — I hear the dull beating 
of his wings — the room is growing dark — my limbs 




i8o 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


are paralyzed. ” His hand relaxed its grasp, and he 
lay in a swoon on the couch. 

Montpier comprehended instantly the situation, 
and springing to his feet, he rang for the servant, 
and then quickly removed the pillows from beneath 
his head and commenced chafing his hands. To 
the servant who now entered he said: 

“Tell the housekeeper that Douglas has fainted, 
and we want restoratives instantly.” 

The man, however, refused to stir, and gazed at 
Montpier with a savage, threatening mien as he 
asked, “What have you been doing to him? He 
was well when you came in here.” 

There was no time to parley, and Montpier rose 
to his full height and, with a look which meant obe- 
dience or annihilation, and a voice deep and hoarse 
with suppressed rage, he said, “Will you go?” and 
the man went, without another glance except in the 
direction of the door. 

Montpier immediately renewed his efforts to re- 
store Douglas, and by the help of the housekeeper, 
who now appeared with the desired remedies, he 
began to show signs of returning animation. Hinda 
soon came in with a perplexed, distrustful look, 
which did not escape Montpier, and convinced him 
that the servant had communicated his suspicions 
to her also; but he simply said: 

“Your brother has fainted, but is reviving, and 
will soon be quite himself again. ” 


THE KODAK WOMAN l8l 

Douglas moaned feebly and reached out his hand, 
and Montpier taking it, he drew him down and 
asked, “Are we alone?” 

Montpiei gently unclasped his hand, and, going 
where the servants were standing, said quietly, “Mr. 
Douglas wishes to be alone;" and they immediately 
retired. But Hinda hesitated, and Montpier, going 
to her side, said: 

“My dear lady, you can trust me. You know 
something of your brother’s past history?" 

Instantly her face changed to an eager, wistful 
look, and she replied, “Yes, did you know her?” 

He nodded. 

“Where is she?” 

"Dead,” he replied, in a low, regretful voice. 

Hinda bowed her head, and, with a pale, agonized 
face, left the room. 

It was a long conference which the two men held 
in that room by themselves, while a mutual sorrow 
— the loss of wife and mother — bound them in a 
closer tie than even that of kindred blood. At last 
a sort of peaceful submission took possession of the 
heart of Douglas, and Montpier rose, leaving him 
alone while he went to find Hinda. A servant con- 
ducted him to her room, where he rapped for admis- 
sion. An eager, tearful face greeted him as he en- 
tered and took the proffered seat near the open win- 
dow. The predominating characteristic of Hinda’ s 


1*2 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


nature was strength. Her love was profound, and 
like great deeps, was seldom ruffled by surface waves. 
In her girlhood her brother had trusted her as he 
had trusted none other, and she alone knew of his 
secret marriage and of the pent-up agony which at 
times was poured out to her with an intense, mad- 
dening pathos which one less self-poised could never 
have endured. 

As Montpier sat down, Hinda asked, “How is my 
brother?” and he assured her that he was quietly 
resting. 

“Then it is all right,” she replied, "for, while I 
have never seen him swoon until now, yet I am 
used to these occasional stormy, grief-whelming 
spells, which for the time deprive him of all power 
to resist or control; and in his desolation and lone- 
liness, 1 have been his only comfort, and given him 
love and sympathy until I felt that all the wealth of 
affection I once possessed had been exhausted at 
this one shrine. But please proceed, as I am anx- 
ious to hear all. And sit nearer, for it has been so 
long since I have had any one in whom I could 
confide that in this new experience I fear I shall be 
childish in my demands.” 

Montpier came and sat down by her side and took 
her hand in his. It was cold as ice, and a slight 
nervous tremor pervaded her whole frame. For the 
first time he realized what a force of will-power 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


183 


must have been exercised for years to hold this mas- 
terful soul in obedience to her brother’s need and 
the strange exigencies of the case. Sitting there, he 
told her all the circumstances connected with Eulalia 
after Douglas returned to Scotland — told of her go 
ing to the hospital, of the birth of the child, of the 
child being separated from its mother, and of the 
mother’s death. At last he reached that part of the 
narrative which had to do with the probating of Mr. 
Belmont’s will and the circumstances and proof of 
himself being the son of her brother, the child of 
Eulalia, and her own nephew. Hinda was deeply 
interested from the commencement of the story, and 
this interest grew in wonder as climax after climax 
was reached, until this revelation, when, quickly 
rising, she stood before him, her face like marble 
in its imperturbable surprise, while her eyes seemed 
to penetrate his very being, as she said: 

“It’s wonderful, wonderful, that you belong to 
us. ” She had lost sight of everything in this one 
fact. Yet she was not quite satisfied, and she con- 
tinued: “I have sacrificed my life to my brother — 
having never had time or thought to build for myself 
a home; and what belongs to him should be equally 
mine. May I not be your foster-mother?” And she 
anxiously waited his reply. 

Montpier was puzzled. He knew that his father, 
like one despoiled of half his treasures, would never 


184 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


consent that even Hinda should share in any degree 
the mother’s title, which belonged alone to Eulalia. 
In his selfish grief this would seem like a second 
robbery of her child. So he said: 

“Never mind the title, let me just be your boy. I 
did so need you in my childhood, and my heart still 
longs for the forbearance and caressing kindness 
which mothers give their children, and the need of 
which their boys cannot outgrow.” 

Hinda was satisfied, and the interview termi- 
nated. 

Douglas had a valet, a trusted servant, who al- 
ways looked after his comfort, and when the time 
for retiring came, he assisted Douglas to his room, 
carefully attended to all his needs, and then laydown 
upon a cot which he had placed near. Douglas 
slept quietly all night, for tired nature, like a skilled 
musician, unwound the mysterious keys, and let 
down the painful exalted tension which had throbbed 
along the aching nerves of brain and body through- 
out the day, and in its place there came refreshing 
rest. In the morning he was somewhat improved, 
but still very weary, and too weak to think or talk. 
He remained in his room for several days, yet be- 
coming stronger and more like himself each day. 
It was nearly a week before he went downstairs, 
and another week that he was confined to the house. 
But the time came when he joined the family and 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


185 


walked about the lawns, sometimes leaning on 
Montpier’s arm for support. Carriage rides were 
of frequent occurrence, and, although he had im- 
proved very much, and seemed to be well once more, 
yet he was changed, and never again the strong, 
courageous man he formerly had been. 

“The heart was crushed and all its inspiration gone, 

That in the past upheld against the ills of life; 

Hope, cheated oft, by promises delayed too long, 

Had spread its wings and gone where storms are never rife.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


Several weeks had passed, and the family, in- 
cluding Montpier, had settled into its usual routine 
of commonplace events. They had continued to call 
the new inmate Montpier, and he felt that he would 
like to have some decision in regard to his name; 
so, going one day to his aunt’s room, he said quite 
abruptly: 

“What have you decided to call your boy?“ 

She looked up, surprised at first, and then in an 
amused way asked, “Well, what does he wish to 
be called?” 

“First, then, am I to be recognized as your 
brother’s child?” 

Hinda was startled, and said, “Why, certainly, if 
you will let us claim you. I had thought you would 
be Montpier Douglas.” 

“No,” he replied, “I am not Montpier, and, be- 
cause of that fact, I lost my uncle’s legacy; and the 
name to me stands only for a motherless infant, a 
lonely childhood, and a lost fortune. I have kept 
it just as long as I can endure it," 

“Very well, my boy, what do you wish to be 
186 


THE KODAK WOMAN 187 

called?” she asked earnestly, all her motherly feel- 
ings enlisted in his behalf. 

“I wish to be called Belmont, for it means to me 
the first great mutual affection of my life. None can 
ever know what my uncle was to me. Measuring 
him by the immense vacuum in my early years which 
he so largely filled, makes him, with his love for me, 
immense indeed. Now, let my name be Belmont 
Russell Douglas, and I am more than satisfied.” 

Hinda bowed and smiled as she replied, “It shall 
be as you desire. ” 

Then he asked, “Will you arrange it with father?” 
And she consented, and, with a grateful smile, he 
continued, "It is such a relief to have a name that 
belongs to you and which has only pleasant memo- 
ries and associations, and to get rid of one that rep- 
resents a sort of nondescript agony which forever 
haunts you, like a living nightmare.” 

With this momentous question settled, time once 
more passed smoothly onward in the castle. Bel 
mont — for by this name he was ever afterward called 
— came to realize that he was the center of the house- 
hold. His father looked upon him with parental 
pride as the future representative of the Douglas 
family and legitimate heir to its title and estate. 
To Hinda he was an object of unfailing interest and 
affectionate attention. She delighted to minister 
to all his wants, even to the care of his clothes, the 


i88 


THE KODAK WOMAN 




combing of his hair, and the arranging of his neck- 
tie. Against these innovations at first his feelings 
seriously rebelled, but in a short time, indolence 
helped the conquest, and he found himself willingly 
submitting to be cared for constantly by the dear, 
deft, loving one who did so delight in the task. 

But in the midst of this ease and indulgence, it 
gradually dawned upon him that he was becoming 
indolent, weak, and worthless, except as a compan- 
ion for his father and an unfailing object for the 
exercise of his aunt’s tireless activities; and he de- 
bated with himself: ‘I am losing the nobility of my 
manhood. I am not the same strong, self-reliant, 
helpful person I used to be. There is no incentive 
to action. I have not even the rivalry of society to 
sharpen my wits and challenge my best in even its 
sometimes questionable attainments. I know that 
I love my aunt as I should have loved my mother; 
but there are other loves and other longings, and 
also desirable positions of trust and honor to attain. 
Besides, we need experience in the heights and 
depths and breadths of the multitudinous activities 
which surround us, for our own development and 
satisfaction, while the world demands this enlight- 
ened experience as its great tired, toiling, bewil- 
dered multitudes look to us for the betterment of 
condition and guidance in all departments of life. 
But just here is a quiet harbor. The sun shines, 


THE KODAK WOMAN 1 89 

and the waves are forever at peace. Outside are 
the tumultuous billows, where every craft must stand 
the test of adverse winds and hurricanes and break- 
ers. Its mariner must be strong, alert, courageous, 
if he ever reaches the other side, where the few 
stand on the shore to cheer his coming. But the 
broad sea is flecked with broken spar, or mast or 
rigging, where the weak or unwise, with magnifi- 
cent endowment and opportunities unsurpassed, 
have gone down hopelessly to obscurity or to de- 
struction. ” 

Belmont thought of all this, and, rising, he walked 
impatiently about the room. “If I fail,” he said, 
"I’d rather go down struggling than to drift aim- 
lessly but surely to this same detested destiny.” 

He could not keep still. The inspiration of a 
contemplated effort in the field of competition for 
achievement tingled like an intoxicant through 
every avenue of his hitherto indolent soul. He was 
anxious to talk the matter over with his aunt, and, 
summoning the servant, he sent a message for her 
to come to his room. She soon appeared, wonder- 
ing what could have happened. After he had given 
her a seat and taken one himself near by, there was 
quiet for a short time, as he scarcely knew how to 
open the question which they were to discuss. 

“I have been here quite a long time,” at last he 
ventured. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


I90 

Hinda’s countenance changed instantly into a be- 
seeching look as she interrupted, “It doesn’t seem 
long to me.” 

“Nor to me, "he added quickly, “and I am not go- 
ing to propose leaving; but, as I said, I jhave been 
here a long time and have done nothing — " 

“O, if that’s all," she again interrupted, “I am 
so glad, for there is no need of your doing any- 
thing. ” 

“Now, my dear unsophisticated aunt, you have 
struck the key-note to this dilemma. I am simply 
existing — floating aimlessly into monentity as fast 
as time and idleness can carry me; and the prospect 
to me, at least, is not inviting.” 

“But what do you propose doing?” she asked. 

“I don’t know — anything that I can do. I wish 
you would enlighten me.” And he waited her re- 
ply. 

She sat thinking for a few moments, and then, 
with one of her merry, rippling laughs, replied, “I 
cannot think of a thing that you are good for ex- 
cept to be loved and cared for. But you are at a 
premium for that, and you had better let well 
enough alone, and we will all be happy here to- 
gether. ” 

Belmont had won his point. He had made her 
see and admit the situation, and he could trust her 
good sense for the rest. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


I 9 I 

"Now I am going to find some employment," he 
continued, "which will require on my part a sacrifice 
of ease and self-indulgence, with close application, 
or, in other words, 'brain work,’ to accomplish." 

"But you need not set yourself so hard a task," 
she interposed. 

But he replied: "Men cannot inherit that which 
is absolutely necessary to the higher types of great- 
ness. They must win that for themselves. Money 
may afford the opportunity, but can never buy the 
prize. ” 

But Hinda responded, half petulantly, "It’s too 
bad, just as we were getting acquainted and were 
so happy.” 

To Belmont the glowing future which had now 
dawned upon him was so attractive that he felt half 
disgusted with her stupidity at not seeing it as he 
did, and he continued, "I thought I would talk to 
you before I mentioned it to father, as it is policy 
to take the least fortifications first. But I think I 
was mistaken this time.” 

Hinda was sorely hurt, but love covered the wound 
as she said, "Forgive me for my selfishness, but I 
had never thought but what my present happiness 
would always last." 

Belmont regretted the unkind remark, and bring- 
ing his chair still nearer, he put his arm around her 
neck and smoothed her cheek with his hand as he 


ig2 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


said, “I do not deserve to be forgiven for those 
cruel words, when I remember that it was your un- 
selfish, untiring love for your unworthy boy which 
regretted the change.” 

Mr. Douglas had a sister Elfleda, who married Mr. 
Stuart Berwick, and now lived in Edinburgh. He 
was a stockholder and director of the Caledonian 
Railroad. Stuart Berwick’s mother was an English 
lady of aristocratic but not titled ancestry. She 
was a large woman of fine proportions, with an in- 
telligent countenance and polished manners. She 
was highly cultured, having a tendency to a broad, 
progressive liberalism in her habits of thought. Her 
husband, Arthur, the Earl of Berwick, was in most 
respects a contrast to herself. He was of Scottish 
birth, and in youth a gay, handsome man, attrac- 
tive for the light, frivolous accomplishments which 
often pass at premium at that time of life. He was 
heir to the title and estate of Berwick, a family of 
ancient and honorable lineal descent. His charac- 
ter seemed to have developed largely along one line 
— that of the efficient management of financial affairs, 
and he conducted the estate, with its various inter- 
ests, in a surprisingly skillful and successful man- 
ner. Beyond this, he ceased to progress, and he 
spent most of his leisure time in light, idle, gossipy 
talk or games and amusements, was good-natured, 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


193 


social, and hospitable. His wife was immeasurably 
his superior, but he never discovered the fact. His 
son Stuart had married Elfleda Douglas about twenty 
years previous to this present time, and was now 
living in Edinburgh. Stuart had inherited his 
mother’s good sense as well as her strength and de- 
cision of character. He was a good financier, but 
except the supervision of his estate, it was left to 
the management of a landlord or superintendent, 
while he turned his attention to more public affairs 
and became personally and financially interested 
in the Caledonian Railroad. 

Both Arthur and Stuart Berwick had removed to 
Edinburgh, where they lived in residences adjoin- 
ing. Stuart had two children, a son, Clyde, nineteen 
years of age, and a daughter of eight years. Belmont 
had visited the family but once since his arrival in 
Scotland, but Clyde, his cousin, had been to the 
castle several times, and proved to be the "young 
Berwick" that he had met in Edinburgh on a for- 
mer visit to that city. 

When Belmont had decided that he should en- 
gage in business, he very naturally thought of his 
uncle Stuart Berwick as a desirable medium by which 
to obtain employment. His uncle was a fine type 
of the English gentry, of medium height and stout 
build, florid complexion, with brown hair and dark, 
expressive eyes. He was an exceedingly busy man, 


194 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


for, in connection with his own personal matters, 
together with his interest in railroads, he took an 
active part in politics and had represented his own 
county several times in the House of Commons. 
He was a man of generous impulses and fine feel- 
ings, although at times a preoccupation of thought 
gave him the appearance of a reticent, dignified 
aristocrat. 

Belmont fully realized that his absence would be 
greatly felt at the castle, and also that his coming 
had created conditions entirely unknown before, 
and that his aunt would never again be happy and 
content without him. But the most lamentable 
of all was the dying out of hope in his father’s 
heart, which the knowledge of Eulalia’s death had 
occasioned; and he saw with much regret that the 
presence of a living son could never supply the 
place of even the most illusive hope of once more 
seeing the lost wife. Belmont went over this mat- 
ter in his mind by day and by night, until at last a 
plan suggested itself which seemed quite feasible, 
and he hastened to propose it to his aunt. It was 
that the family should go for the winter to Edin- 
burgh and leave the servants in charge of the cas- 
tle. He found her in her room busy with some 
needlework. When he made the proposition, she 
dropped everything and looked at him steadily for 
SQme time to be sure whether he had gone ma<j q? 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


195 


was jesting. Had he proposed a journey to the 
moon, for the instant she would not have been 
more surprised; but, remembering their last en- 
counter, she answered very cautiously, “This would 
be quite an important change, and I must take time 
to think. But I observe,” she continued, with a 
forced smile, “you have selected your occupation, 
and are now engaged in an emigration scheme.” 

He was slightly nonplused by her bantering words, 
but the question under consideration was too impor- 
tant, and involved so much of happiness for them all, 
that it must not be abandoned without an effort; 
so he replied pleasantly, 

“I have heard somewhere that the duty next at 
hand was the most important, and was the gateway 
to larger opportunities.” 

But she answered with an incredulous shrug, “It 
is certainly quite an attractive view of the case, but 
I fear it might often proveto be the will-o’-the-wisp 
which leads out to greater difficulties instead of 
larger opportunities. ” 

“But, really, Aunt,” he said impatiently, "you 
must observe that father is falling into a state of 
alarming melancholy, and, in my opinion, an entire 
change of surroundings is the only means by which 
to restore him to himself or to us.” 

This presentation of the case came to her with 
the forge of a stiinning blow, She had observed her 


ig6 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


brother’s condition, but with an unwillingness to 
believe it anything save a morbid apprehension of 
her own. But now that Belmont had clearly defined 
the malady, naming it among the list of the “ter- 
ribles, ” she was seized with a vague dread, while 
her usual strength of endurance forsook her, and, 
covering her face with her hands, she wept with an 
abandon of grief which Belmont had never before 
witnessed, and the anxiety for his father was swal- 
lowed up in amazement and fear for the nervous 
condition of his aunt. His past life swept before 
him like a succession of angry waves, and he seemed 
to have been a disturber of peaceful conditions 
wherever he had gone. Before him passed a pan- 
orama, including his infancy, the life and death of 
his mother, Mr. Montpier’s disappointment, the 
death of his Uncle Belmont, and his own lost legacy, 
Mrs. Lasure’s confidence in him, with her deplor- 
able but, to him, unknown fate, his father and aunt 
in their peaceful home, now so changed by his pres- 
ence that one was on the verge of lunacy and the 
other in a frame of mind almost as distressing. He 
could endure this no longer, and rising, he quietly 
left the house and walked toward the upper part of 
the glen. If he could have annihilated himself, 
with all the blighting influences attending his life, 
he would gladly have done so. His feelings were 
in such a tumult that he could think of nothing in 
a rational manner. 



She found Belmont sitting on a rude bench. — Page 198. 


198 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


When Hinda’s. paroxysm of grief had subsided, 
she looked up and found that her companion had 
left the room, and she felt that he must have been 
greatly pained by this unusual exhibition of feeling 
on her part, and with love which was ever alert, 
she went to find and comfort him. As she passed 
out, one of the servants informed her that Belmont 
had gone toward the ravine at the terminus of the 
glen, and thither she followed. Before she had 
reached her destination she had decided to do what- 
ever he thought best, if it could be accomplished 
in a reasonable way. She found Belmont sitting 
on a rude bench, with his face buried in his hands, 
a mute picture of a victim of unfortunate circum- 
stances. She laid her hand upon his shoulder before 
he realized her presence, and then he raised his 
face and looked at her with the stolid indifference 
and despair of one who has been vanquished in the 
supreme encounter of his life. As Hinda talked, he 
found to his own wonderment that it was impossible 
for him to care — although she was not only willing 
but anxious to accede to any proposition, or favor- 
ably consider any plans he should offer. The in- 
difference which had taken possession of him held 
him with a relentless power which he could not un- 
derstand. He absolutely had no feelings on the 
subject and did not desire any; and when she ap- 
pealed to him to know what he wished, he answered: 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


199 


“I want nothing, and have no care in regard to 
this matter, or any other thing which exists. I tell 
you truly that I would not lift my hand to save the 
world from immediate destruction, neither would I 
rise from my seat to prevent the upheaval of the 
universe. I used to doubt my identity. But now I 
doubt my sanity. I am impressed with the thought 
that the world would be all right if I were not in it. 
If there is a God, it appears to me that he is greatly 
preoccupied with something beside the interests of 
the poor wretches who inhabit this earth. As I sat 
here it seemed as if I could hear this life’s great 
undertow of sobbing agony as it surges at the door 
of omnipotent power and presence. But there was 
no response. Helplessness is the all-pervading es- 
sence of this tangible, sensate world, and silence and 
mystery fill all space beside.” 

Hinda shed no more tears, but the anguish and 
alarm in her countenance Belmont read perfectly. But 
he did not care. It was only a part of her destiny, 
and the sooner the cup of fate was filled the sooner 
the misery would end. At this juncture she insisted 
on his going to the house and lying down for rest. 
She dimly comprehended the utter despair into 
which he had fallen. To save the exertion of op- 
posing her, Belmont did whatever she wished, like 
one who had lost the power of choice. When he 
reached the house, he lay down upon the couch, 
and the apathy which pervaded his entire system 


200 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


allowed him to drop into a profound sleep, and it 
was a haggard, pitiable countenance which Hinda 
saw as she looked at the face of her sleeping boy. 
It was late in the evening when she aroused him 
and asked how he felt. 

"All right, I guess, only more tired than I can 
express. ” 

She accompanied him to his room, and calling 
the faithful servant, she left Belmont in his care for 
he night. The next morning he was restored to his 
normal condition, and as he thought of his experi- 
ences of yesterday, he marveled at their strange fan- 
tasies, but he had no inclination to talk on the sub- 
ject, and it never again was mentioned. 

Early in the afternoon Hinda ordered the carriage 
and went out to the city. She was gone a long 
time, returning about sunset. The ride seemed to 
have had a beneficial influence upon her, as she was 
in the best cf spirits, and her cheerfulness had the 
usual effect of communicating itself to the rest of 
the household. After this she went about in an un- 
usually busy manner, arranging things somewhat 
mysteriously, and there were hours at a time when 
no one knew where she was or what she was doing. 
One day soon after this, Elfleda and Clyde came up 
for a visit and spent the day. They brought with 
them some of the brisk, bracing atmosphere from 
the outside world. Mr. Douglas was particularly 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


201 


interested, and manifested an amount of animation 
in regard to the subjects discussed quite foreign to 
his habitual indifference. When the time came for 
the visitors to return, Elfleda insisted that she had 
not yet completed her visit; that she had enjoyed 
it more than any since she was married and left the 
castle, and concluded that she would stay over night 
unless they would all come down to Edinburgh the 
next day and remain until she was willing for them 
to return. The unusual animation and persistence 
in her request amused Douglas, and with the happy 
experience of the day just past, he willingly con- 
sented to go out for the morrow, but would not 
agree to stay over night; so, with arrangements com- 
pleted, the visitors departed with an admonition 
from Clyde to come early, as Belmont and he wished 
to “do the city" the next day. 

There were lighter hearts in the castle than had 
been for some time previous. The harrowing past, 
by tacit consent, had dropped from their minds, and 
was replaced by the pleasures of the day, with the 
anticipation of their renewal on the morrow. After 
the family separated for the night, Douglas sat for 
a long time in his room thinking about Elfleda, and 
it seemed that she had never been more sweet and 
beautiful to him than on this occasion, and he won- 
dered that he had not kept up the family intercourse 
more fully during the past years; and when he lay 


202 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


down to sleep there was a quiet satisfaction in his 
feelings, as though he had found something of value 
which for some time had been lost. Hinda, as she 
carefully went about her room completing the ar- 
rangements for a prolonged stay from home, rejoiced 
with trembling at the present success of her scheme 
and the uncertainty which yet attended its comple- 
tion. Her brother had fallen into the net spread for 
him so easily and so apparently happy that it was 
too easy a conquest for her to accept as final with- 
out some misgivings. In Belmont’s placid uncon- 
cern she read an indifference which would never 
cause her any trouble. 

After the lights were extinguished and the house 
became still, a reaction took place in her feelings, 
and a lonely sadness came into her heart. She knew 
that Belmont was dissatisfied not only with his idle 
life, but his love for her, although sincere, was not 
of the type which alone can fill the supreme demand 
of a human heart. Young, attractive, and hand- 
some, with impulsive emotions and an affectionate 
nature, she easily forecast his future and detected 
herself wondering if he would marry one who was 
worthy of him and loved him for himself alone, or 
a speculating bride who counted among his para- 
mount attractions the title and estate of Douglas. 
So, with the jealous eye of a mother’s idolizing 
affection, she began to fear his entrance into the 
fashionable society of the city. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


203 


Hinda rose early in the morning and commenced 
preparations for the day. Belmont, coming down- 
stairs, greeted her pleasantly, and went on out of 
the house. The morning was tranquil and beauti- 
ful. The bird choirs trilled amid the gorgeous 
orchestra of the painted trees. On the mountain 
side the white deft fingers of the glittering frost had 
been at work among the leaves, preparing for na- 
ture’s carnival, the crowning season of the year. 
The tenderness of spring, the joyousness of summer 
had given place to the maturity, the richness, and 
the ripeness of October, queen of the seasons. In 
the interludes of music there were farewell pipings 
of the birds who, on impatient wing, just waited 
for this coronation, while anxious to be gone. The 
cascades sparkled in the yellow sunshine. Some 
leaves of wondrous shading, whose numb fingers 
had loosed their clasp upon the branches, were 
fallen, and with sacrilegious haste the feet of ma- 
rauding squirrels trampled and marred their exquisite 
beauty. All nature waited with majesty supreme 
for the dying of the flowers, for the gathering of the 
harvest, for the disrobing of the trees, for the hush- 
ing of the music, for the paling of the sunshine, for 
the spreading of the twilight, for the coming of the 
winds, as this pageant of autumn marched slowly 
to the crowning of October and on to the funeral of 
the year. 


204 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


Belmont realized but little of the gorgeous beauty 
of the hour, as his thoughts were occupied with the 
problem of his own future. He judged that his 
uncle would find him employment, but it would be 
an experiment with himself, as he never yet had 
engaged in a permanent business, and there were 
some misgivings in regard to his undeveloped ca- 
pacity and his untried abilities, and he almost 
wished that this, his first effort, was to be made 
among strangers, where, if he failed, he would not 
have the mortification of disappointing his friends. 
It seemed one of the most important periods of his 
life, and Hinda’s forceful setting forth of the attrac- 
tions and ease of an idle life appealed to him much 
more strongly than on that day of lofty inspiration 
and high resolve, and a double regret for his unkind 
words came back to him. 

Breakfast was soon announced, and, in the best 
of spirits, the family gathered in the dining-room, 
where they discussed the beauties of the morning 
and the prospects of the day. With the meal com- 
pleted, they were soon on their way to Edinburgh, 
the ride to which, with the delightful scenery, the 
fresh morning air, and the impatient steeds, seemed 
all too quickly accomplished. Elfleda and Clyde 
came out to meet them as the carriage halted at the 
door. The greetings were most cordial, and when 
the company had gone toward the house chaperoned 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


205 


by Clyde, Elfleda told the coachman that he need 
not come for the family, as, when they wished to 
return, she would send them in her own carriage. 
“And you need not expect them to-night,” she 
added, “as I shall keep them if possible.” 

And so the sweet, loving sister, with a very happy 
face, followed her guests into the house. 

There was a delightful freedom and general hub- 
bub in the conversation attendant upon such family 
gatherings. Very soon Mrs. Arthur Berwick came in 
and was equally demonstrative in her greetings and 
graciousness, seeming to be quite as much at home in 
her son’s house as in her own. She was a person 
who impressed you as complete in every respect, 
having gathered to herself all the qualities necessary 
and measured up to all the requirements of a per- 
fect womanhood. After a little, Belmont subsided 
into silence and sat looking from the window with 
something of anxiety on his countenance. Clyde, 
observing this, asked if he would like to go to the 
office, and they went out together. Belmont and 
Clyde had talked in regard to the desired business 
arrangement when they were at the castle yesterday, 
and on returning home Clyde spoke to his father on 
the subject and found him not only willing but 
much pleased with the proposition. They found 
Mr. Berwick in his office and received a welcome 
which astonished Clyde in its demonstrations of real 


206 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


pleasure, as his father was usually reserved and 
dignified except with his most intimate friends. He 
opened the business which interested them by say- 
ing: 

•‘Clyde told me yesterday that you were coming 
down to see about getting employment of some kind 
under my supervision, and I was very glad to learn 
of it, as I need you at the present right here in the 
office, and will give you a good position, including 
good salary, at any time when you wish to com- 
mence. " 

Belmont was overwhelmed with delight, as he felt 
that he could do credit to himself and give better 
satisfaction in this than in any other occupation 
which he could have named. His face expressed his 
gratitude as he thanked his uncle, while his endeav- 
ors to control his emotions almost deprived him of 
the power of speech. Mr. Berwick observed his 
embarrassment and relieved the situation by pro- 
ceeding to show him the arrangement of the office; 
telling him which books he would have in charge, 
which desk he would occupy, and then giving gen- 
eral directions in reference to the work. Belmont 
then said that he should be glad to commence work 
in the morning if it would be agreeable to him. 
And thus it was arranged, and he returned to the 
house with a satisfaction and pleasure which he 
had seldom experienced Shortly after, dinner was 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


207 


served, and Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Berwick remained, 
seeming to enjoy the occasion as much as any of 
the guests. When the company arose from the table, 
the elder Mr. Berwick invited Mr. Douglas to retire 
with him to his own house, where they could enjoy 
their after-dinner smoke without intrusion; the old 
gentleman adding, as a sort of apology for the exclu- 
siveness, that he did not extend the invitation to the 
boys, as he thought they had better begin by leav- 
ing smoking alone, if they wished to make money 
out of the business. 

The young men thus left to their own devices, 
Clyde proposed that they "raid” the town, and they 
immediately started out ostensibly for this purpose. 
Thus Hinda was left alone with her sister and Mrs. 
Berwick, and a very long confidential conference 
was held by the three. There was no trouble with 
their plans except to induce Mr. Douglas to stay 
away from home at night. It was very rarely in his 
life that he had slept away from the castle when 
in Scotland. The women seemed to agree in regard 
to the obstinacy of men in general and Scotchmen 
in particular. At last, Elfleda summed it all up in 
this statement : 

"Well, he can’t get home until we take him, as I 
told the coachman not to come for you, and I would 
see to your getting home, but not to-night.” 

Hinda was delighted, and, with rnneh enthusiasm. 


208 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


exclaimed, “I could hug you, Flede. You are just 
a prize. You always know the right thing to do in 
an emergency. It was so stupid of me not to think 
of it before I left home.” 

Mrs. Berwick now presented her view of the sub- 
ject by saying: “Mr. Douglas is fond of games, 
and Mr. Berwick never tires of them, and Eulalia, 
when she comes in from school, will do her part of 
the entertaining, as she and her Uncle Douglas never 
tire of each other. It is surprising what an at- 
tachment there is between the two. ” 

Hinda looked out of the window, and Mrs. Ber- 
wick continued: “Besides, all of you young people 
can sing, and all are musicians, and we ought to 
be able to charm a much less reasonable man into 
perfect happiness and content.” 

And so the subject was dismissed to await devel- 
opments. The afternoon passed quickly, and Elfleda 
had gone to the kitchen to order the tea when Mr. 
Douglas came in, accompanied by Mr. Berwick, 
with whom he had spent the time until now. He 
seemed somewhat surprised as he looked at his 
watch, and said: 

“It is after four o’clock, and the carriage has not 
come. I ordered it promptly at four. ” 

Elfleda, who had just returned to the room, said, 
“I knew they would not give us time to finish our 
visit, and I told the coachman I would see you taken 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


209 


home myself when I thought you ought to go. ” And 
a smile played on her countenance as she took her 
brother’s hand and looked demurely in his face. 

A flush of disappointment, with a slight mixture 
of anger, showed in his face for a moment, and then 
slowly subsiding, he said, "I see it is a plot, and 
I am betrayed in the house of my friends. But as 
there will be abundant time after tea for the drive 
home, I shall submit gracefully to the inevitable. ” 

There was no need for further parley, as Eulalia 
came in just here and immediately took possession 
of her uncle Douglas with the unhesitating air of 
long proprietorship. She kissed him fondly and 
then, without further delay, seized him by the hand 
and literally dragged him into the garden to show 
him her grievance in the shape of a bird house 
which had been put up especially at her request. 

“Just look at it,” she said. “It ain’t near large 
enough. There can’t half the birds get in, and there 
ain’t half windows enough for them to see out when 
they are in there.” 

Here she ceased speaking for lack of breath and 
also to get his opinion. Douglas looked for a short 
time, and then said, “This house will have to be 
left just as it is. It will answer for a part of them. 
Then a new one, larger, with more windows, would 
accommodate the rest, and you could have a little 
sparrow village.” 


210 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


The idea pleased the child immensely, and she ex- 
claimed with animation, “You will stay and see it 
done, won’t you? It never will be right unless you 
do." 

Her childish pleading eyes looked into his. Ten- 
der memories thronged his mind, while a dreary 
loneliness filled his heart, and he could not bear to 
give her pain; so he said, “Yes, I’ll stay.” And 
the glad laugh, as she clapped her hands and thanked 
him, he felt, was recompense enough for the small 
sacrifice which he had made. 

When she was an infant he asked his sister to let 
him name the child, and she gave her consent; but 
when he proposed the name Eulalia, she was disap- 
pointed, and replied, “My name is queer enough, 
and now to have another of the same kind seems 
almost too much to inflict upon one family.” But 
she observed that her brother was deeply hurt, while 
he merely said, “If you don’t like the name, of 
course that is all there is of it.” She then said, 
“Perhaps some other would suit you just as well;” 
but he replied, “I have no other choice.” 

There was something in all this which she could 
not fathom, but one thing she knew, that her brother’s 
heart was set upon the name and, with the self- 
denying love which was one of her strongest traits 
of character, she replied, “I think, after all, I quite 
like it, and Lula would be a very sweet pet name 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


21 1 


while she is a baby.” So the infant was called 
Eulalia, while none but Douglas and Hinda knew 
the reason why. But the name became an indisso- 
luble bond between uncle and niece. 

At the supper-table, Lula, sitting by her uncle, 
suddenly announced that she was to have a bird 
village, and Uncle Douglas was going to stay and 
fix it for her to-morrow. And she immediately com- 
menced teasing to remain from school and see it 
done. The instant relief which this information 
afforded some of those who sat at the table inclined 
them to tell her that she could stay at home for a 
week if she wished, but they simply said they would 
see about it in the morning. 

The evening passed pleasantly, the night was un- 
eventful, and the morning gave promise of another 
beautiful day. After breakfast Belmont commenced 
work in the office. Mr. Douglas went out to over- 
see the building of the “bird village,” as Lula called 
it, while she was permitted to remain at home on 
that eventful occasion. Clyde and Hinda went 
shopping — woman’s last resort when everything else 
fails them. This has never lost its attraction, never 
grown monotonous, never palled on their senses, 
never become tiresome, but, through all the seasons 
of all the years of all their lives, it is the one thing 
that changes not. 

The two Mrs. Berwicks during the morning su- 


212 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


perintended their domestic affairs. The elder Mrs. 
Berwick was a great favorite in literary circles, and 
numbered among her acquaintances many fine elo- 
cutionists, singers, musicians, and amateur drama- 
tists who, in private theatricals and impersonations, 
were very clever and entertaining; and so, without 
consulting any of the family, she soon organized a 
troupe of a dozen or more, establishing headquarters 
at her own house, which in its construction admit- 
ted, with very little trouble, of nearly all the first 
floor being thrown into one large audience or recep- 
tion room. This completed, the next thing was to 
prepare her guests for the entertainment. So she 
went and found Elfleda and Hinda and announced 
that in about two weeks she should hold a reception 
for the general household, as she termed the three 
families, but especially for Belmont, as he was the 
latest arrival and most distinguished stranger of 
whom their circle could boast. 

This intelligence filled Hinda with dismay. She 
could analyze herself with the same impartiality and 
severity which is accorded to others, and, while she 
did not disparage her common sense and useful 
qualities, yet she realized intuitively that in the 
easy, graceful, polished manners which are acquired 
only by contact with refined and .elegant society, 
she was a novice, and her strong, sensitive nature 
quailed before the imaginary inspection and criti- 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


213 


cism of those superficial yet attractive, delightful 
society belles; and she felt perfectly helpless as she 
imagined herself in their midst. 

Mrs. Berwick observed her discomfiture, and 
asked, “Does not the arrangement suit you?” and 
Hinda answered frankly, “For the others it does, 
but for myself it does not.” 

“Well, can you explain the dilemma?” Mrs. Ber- 
wick pleasantly asked. 

“I think I can. I am not old enough to be ig- 
nored, neither am I young enough to be attractive. 
Circumstances have never demanded of me much 
attention to dress, which is of paramount importance 
in these assemblages, and I imagine myself a curi- 
osity of the mediaeval ages or the antediluvian 
period in their midst — the only original amusement 
of the evening. ” And there was a grieved, indig- 
nant accent in her voice which elicited Mrs. Ber- 
wick’s sympathy as she replied: 

“Your description might apply to a certain set, 
but you are quite mistaken in the status of the 
prospective company. Besides, ” she added, roguish- 
ly, “they are my friends, and your description is not 
complimentary to my selection.” 

“I beg your indulgence,” Hinda said quickly, “I 
had not thought of it in this light, and the explana- 
tion has somewhat removed my objections. I can- 
not sufficiently express my gratitude for the kindly 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


21 4 

interest which you have manifested in our domestic 
affairs, and my apparent lack of appreciation must 
be shocking to you.' 1 

Mrs. Berwick assured her that she was not in the 
least shocked, but was impressed with her idea in 
regard to the importance of dress in connection with 
society, for the elegant, rich, careful costume cannot 
be ignored as a force in social circles. The highest 
office of dress is not to be in itself attractive, but 
to add to the attractions of the wearer; and it is this 
kind of adornment to which all — even men — pay as 
unquestioned homage as ever Hindoo did to his fa- 
vorite idol. 

Here Elfleda gave an astonished sigh, and would 
have spoken, but Mrs. Berwick interrupted: ‘Now, 
you need not raise your hands in horror and begin 
to protest, but just hear me. There are grades in 
society which demand these toilets and will have 
them, and they have a mighty influence, ignore it 
as you will. In the past, the realm of dress has 
been almost the only one where women could com- 
pete for superiority; and it is a fact that there are 
plenty of men who love their wives just in propor- 
tion as they command admiration and gain influence 
outside of their own homes. And this is a legiti- 
mate or natural result. For love can exist only 
where there are attributes which excite admiration 
and respect; and we may be sure that there will be 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


215 


a marked improvement in the happiness and fidelity 
of the marriage state when men come to understand 
that women have an absolute value and influence of 
their own, outside of the realm of dress or matri- 
mony; and that multitudinous opportunities are in- 
viting their acceptance, and there exists no longer 
the attraction of sacrificing their own identity for 
the doubtful privilege of becoming Mrs. John Brown 
or Mrs. Tom Jones, the wives of men noted only 
for their obscurity. But really," she added, "this 
is a marked digression from the subject in hand. I 
should be pleased if you could inform me 'where we 
are at.’" But as neither of her listeners could sug- 
gest the point of digression, she continued: 

"I will simply make the application and close the 
subject. Therefore it transpires that a person plainly 
or meanly dressed in stylish company feels awkward 
and embarrassed, and acts as she feels, although her 
intellect might be the envy of an angel." 

After this interview Mrs. Berwick and Hinda 
spent a considerable time in shopping, and were 
frequently seen at the dressmaker’s; and on the 
eventful occasion of the reception, Hinda, to her 
unspeakable satisfaction, was not only becomingly 
and elegantly dressed, but, as judged by others, was 
a bright, intelligent, attractive woman, and quite an 
acquisition to their circle. 


CHAPTER X. 


Mr. Douglas, without consenting or objecting, 
was spending the most of his time in Edinburgh, 
going back to the castle occasionally, but returning 
with evident satisfaction to the more enjoyable 
associations of his sister’s home in the city. Upon 
the appearance of Belmont as the son of Douglas, 
the immediate family were informed of all the par- 
ticulars preceding this event, but outside of the 
relatives, Belmont was the son of Mr. Douglas, 
whose mother had died in infancy, while he had 
largely spent his time in school and later in travel- 
ing, until at present he had returned home and was 
employed in his Uncle Berwick’s office. 

Mr. Douglas improved in health and spirits dur- 
ing the winter, the excitement and pleasant surround- 
ings giving him little opportunity to brood over the 
melancholy events of his early life. When spring 
came, he, with Hinda, returned to Glenloch and 
called it home once more. But things had somehow 
wonderfully changed, and the castle had lost its 
charms, or they had found superior attractions out- 
side. Certain it was that a part of almost every week 
216 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


217 


was spent in Edinburgh and with the same relish as 
during the winter. During the school vacation, 
Eulalia came to the castle and remained several 
weeks. She was a bright, merry, restless child that 
scaled the cliffs and rocks, ran races with the tame 
rabbits, and kept things generally, sometimes uncom- 
fortably, stirred up. One morning she came into the 
room in a sadly dilapidated condition, with her face 
flushed and scratched, her hair tangled, and her 
clothes soiled. The quick eye of her aunt took in 
the situation, as she asked, "Where have you been?” 

"Only up in the balsam to see what is in the nest 
at the top.” 

A little indignant spark flashed from Hinda’s eyes 
as she said: "Let’s see your hands.” And as the 
child held them up for inspection, she saw with dis- 
may that they were covered with pitch and black 
with dirt. 

The aunt replied with a disgusted shrug, "If we 
don’t hamper you, you’ll be climbing the turrets of 
the castle next. But come out in the kitchen and I 
will see what I can do for you.” Here Hinda placed 
a chair for the offender and then, procuring some 
oil and soap, commenced renovating the soiled hands. 
Evidently her exasperated feelings lent vigor to the 
operation, as she oiled and soaped, rubbed and 
scrubbed the poor little suffering hands until the 
child could endure it no longer, and she meekly 


2l8 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


said, “When you get through, Auntie, there will not 
be a speck of skin left on them. ” 

“But they will be clean,” rejoined the aunt, “and 
the skin will grow ” But it was with a marked 
difference of care and gentleness with which she 
finished the task, while remarking, “There, they are 
almost as good as ever.” 

“Yes,” Lula replied in a hesitating manner, “what 
there is left of them. " Hinda now repented of her 
severity toward the child and, taking her on her 
lap, caressed her back to happiness once more. But 
Eulalia never climbed any more trees. Her uncle 
was her almost constant companion, as she followed 
him everywhere, asking questions and talking inces- 
santly. Everything was beautiful, — the soft, velvety 
lawns, the variegated flowers, the clumps of shrub- 
bery, and numerous shade trees, while above and 
beyond all were the picturesque rocky cliffs, from 
the lofty summit of which the cascade forever flung 
itself in mist and music to the glen below. And 
Eulalia, in all the years of her after life, remembered 
with intensest pleasure these summers of her child- 
hood, spent with her Uncle Douglas at Glenloch 
Castle, and this is the picture, hastily drawn, of how 
the summers and winters for many years were passed 
by the several families, who scarcely knew, so in- 
terchangeable and intimate had become their rela- 
tions, whether they really belonged in Edinburgh or 
in Glenloch. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


219 


Ten years had now passed since Belmont came 
to Scotland. Many changes had come to all, but 
so gradually, so naturally, that they seemed only 
the ripening and maturing processes necessary to 
perfectness. Eulalia was a sweet-faced, intelligent 
young lady of eighteen years, with the same fond 
relations existing between herself and her uncle as 
of yore. Clyde had developed wonderfully since his 
mother and he had gone into partnership in the real 
estate business. This transaction occurred several 
years previous to this present time, and was brought 
about in the following manner: One day Mr. Ber- 
wick, Clyde’s father, came into the room where his 
wife sat reading, and, with unusual irritation, said: 

“Clyde will never amount to shucks. He has no 
taste for the work in the office, and, although he is 
fond of business on the estate, yet he has no ability 
in its management I tell him what I wish done, 
and you would suppose by the zeal he displays that 
it would be all right; but when it is completed it is 
never satisfactory. ” And he finished the sentence 
with an intonation of voice and a gesture which ex- 
pressed complete disgust. 

“Is the work spoiled?” the wife asked quietly. v 

“No, not quite, but never right.” 

Elfleda closed her book and, straightening up, she 
began with the short, terse sentence, “Now listen,” 
which always meant business on her part. “I have 


) 

220 THE KODAK WOMAN 

seen all of this for some time, and have been waiting 
until a point should be reached where you would 
be willing to hear me. Clyde is young and inexpe- 
rienced, but he possesses a strong individuality, and 
also ideality.' I once [heard an experienced lawyer 
say that he never wanted as clerk a man who was 
capable of managing a business of his own, for he 
always had a way of his own for doing everything, 
and would not, or could not, obey instructions. Now, 
when you tell Clyde what you wish done, he thinks 
he will do it exactly as you direct, and he commences 
but his own ideas of what is needed and the best 
and easiest way of accomplishing it become so mixed 
with your instructions that he can hardly separate 
them. Besides, it is hardly possible for a person of 
discretion to go forward and do a piece of work as 
instructed when, in his judgment, it would be much 
better done in another way. " 

"But what does he know about the work?" Ber- 
wick asked. 

"Nothing practically, but his ideas are excellent. 

I have heard him talk much more about these things 
than you have. Now, my dear, I know you will not 
be in the least offended by what I am going to say. 
You are a strong, practical, efficient man in every 
respect, and there is an undefined impression in 
your mind that Clyde should know just as much, 
and in the same manner, at twenty as you do at 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


221 


forty, and you overshadow him entirely, and he has 
no chance to display or cultivate any skill if he has 
any. You know instantly what you want and just 
how you want it, and give minute instructions, and 
then expect the finished work to be an exact copy of 
the picture which you have in your mind. Clyde 
goes onto the ground where the work is, and finds 
difficulties of which you knew nothing, and sees 
ways by which the work might be more easily ac- 
complished. So he is in the dilemma of trying to 
suit you and at the same time perform the work in 
the best manner; and between the two, you are not 
pleased, neither is he, while he is discouraged and 
you are provoked.” 

Mr. Berwick was delighted with this explanation, 
as a distrust of Clyde’s ability had troubled him 
much more than the unsatisfactory work. Therefore, 
with pleasure expressed in his countenance, he re- 
plied: 

“I believe you are right, as you usually are when 
you attempt to investigate a subject, and I am going 
to let you experiment with this matter, which will 
be a great relief to me.” 

“Well, what is it that you wish done?” she asked, 
as he rose to leave the room. 

“O, yes,” he replied, sitting down again, “I think 
I must have gotten the impression that you know 
all things intuitively, as I now remember I have not 


222 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


even hinted at the present difficulty. Well, then, 
the property which I recently purchased, and which 
lies near our old estate, is in a very dilapidated 
condition and needs repairing and renovating, with 
a change in the tenantry and management generally. 
With this it will soon be a fine, valuable estate, 
although it was purchased at a very low figure be- 
cause of these conditions. Its former owner lives 
in America, and the property has been sadly neg- 
lected. ” 

Elfleda thought for a few moments and then said, 
“I will take the responsibility of making it all it 
ought to be, if you will put it unreservedly into my 
hands and allow me to do with it just as I please.” 

It was now Berwick’s turn to consider, and after 
a little he said, ‘Til do it, for you cannot make it 
any worse, and I hope you will improve it. ” And, 
with this doubtful compliment to her ability, the 
affair was settled, greatly to his relief; and as he 
went out he kissed her, pinched her cheek, and 
wished her abundant success, while he returned to 
his office in a very different mood from that in which 
he left it. 

The next day Elfleda had a long talk with Clyde 
in regard to the estate, and finally told him that 
its management had been a great deal of trouble to 
his father, and she had agreed to superinted it en- 
tirely, "For, you see, I knew I could depend on you 
to do it for me." 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


223 


“Yes,” Clyde replied, “it has been some trouble 
to father, but lots more to me. I never can suit him, 
the best I can do.” And there was a slight tone of 
bitterness in his voice. 

His mother was silent, but there was reproof in 
her countenance. 

“Now, my dear mother,” he continued, “you need 
not look so hurt over this matter. I love him, and 
I am the proudest boy in Scotland, because of my 
grand, magnificent father; but there are times when 
I do believe he thinks me as old as himself, and 
that, having been born later, I ought to know a good 
deal more." 

Mrs. Berwick laughed at this forceful way of put- 
ting things, and said, “I think I shall fully appre- 
ciate your youth and ignorance, and we shall get 
along admirably together." 

“I know we shall,” he replied, emphatically, “and 
it is a grand place if we can have our own way with 
it and make it what it should be.” 

“Well, what do you propose to do?" she inquired 
somewhat anxiously, feeling that it was quite a re- 
sponsibility for her to take. 

“Can I do just as I please, without fault-finding 
or criticism?” 

“Yes,” she replied, “under my supervision.” 

“I am glad of that. You never were a hard task- 
master, and we shall be quite happy in doing the 


224 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


work,” he said affectionately. “Now, what I propose 
to do is this. The oldest house on the premises was 
built on the finest location, facing the south, on a 
rise of ground sloping gently toward the east and 
west. The building is now worthless, and I shall 
remove it and put in its place a new handsome cot- 
tage like one which Grandpa Berwick has on his 
estate for the home of the landlord or overseer. 
There are several more, all of which need repairing 
and thorough renovating. I shall paint all of the 
buildings and lay out the grounds and make every- 
thing as attractive as [possible. I shall dismiss the 
present tenants to start with, and, while the work 
is being done, I shall, by a thorough canvas and in- 
vestigation, endeavor to obtain what tenants are 
needed, of a class superior to the ordinary, who will 
appreciate pleasant homes and show their gratitude 
by keeping them nice and clean.” 

“But will not this be a large outlay of iponey, and 
somewhat of a waste?” she asked, rather dubiously. 

“I don’t think so. The poor have not lost all their 
fine sensibilities,* nor have the rich a monopoly of 
the desirable graces.” 

Mrs. Berwick looked at him, evidently surprised, 
which he observing, said, “You think this very sage 
talk for me, but sometimes I think more than I say, 
for I have learned that one might better keep still 
than talk when he is not appreciated. But I just 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


225 


wish you could see Grandfather Berwick’s estate 
and its tenantry — and eat there, too, as I have, lots 
of times. It is just fine. They treat you as if you 
were some higher order of being — giving you the 
very best they have with such a hearty good will, 
but without the least fear or distrust of you — telling 
all their troubles and appealing to you in all mat- 
ters of doubt or distress, as though you were an 
agent direct from heaven, to look after their concerns. 
I tell you, it makes you feel consequential some- 
times, but oftener wonderfully small and inefficient, 
when they apply for advice with such perfect confi- 
dence in regard to things about which only an angel 
or the Lord himself could give them any assistance. 
I remember once, several years ago, where at one 
place they had just lost a little child, and the mother 
was nearly frantic with grief, and, after telling us 
all about it, in the midst of sobs and tears which 
were truly pathetic, she exclaimed, ‘I could bear it 
better if I was sure I should see her in heaven. Do 
you think I will, Mr. Berwick?’ And grandfather 
said, 'Yes, I think you will.’ And she replied, ‘Thank 
God, I am so glad to knowl!’ — as confident as 
though the Lord himself had spoken. " 

As Clyde talked, his mother’s astonishment grew 
into wonder, and finally she said, “Why, Clyde, I 
never heard you talk like this before.” 

“Good reason,” he replied; “I never had a chance. 


226 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


I feel this minute as if I had just reached my major- 
ity and gone into partnership with a firm who would 
appreciate what little ability I had, and where I 
should count at least one and have my opinion re- 
spected for what it is worth. I think we had best 
conduct the estate as nearly like grandfather’s as 
possible, for there is no man in Scotland who has 
been more successful with tenantry than he. ” 

His mother did not object to any of his proposi- 
tions; so the conference closed, while Clyde went in 
search of his grandfather to consult in regard to the 
management of this, to him, new estate. Mr. Ber- 
wick saw that his ideas were practical, and encour- 
aged Clyde in following them out, and some credit 
is due him for success in the results; for when he 
learned that Clyde’s ambition was to emulate him- 
self in the conduct of the estate, declaring that his 
grandfather was the most distinguished baron in 
Scotland in this regard, Mr. Berwick’s pride, as 
well as his love for his grandson, was enlisted, and 
he placed himself with his experience and advice at 
his disposal, going with him and personally inspect- 
ing the situation. 

It was, however, several years before the estate 
would compare favorably with his grandfather’s. 
Clyde often took his mother with him, and the ten- 
ants soon learned to look with pleasure for the com- 
ing of the gentle, cheerful lady who sympathized in 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


227 


all their troubles and rejoiced in their simple pleas- 
ures. It had become an attractive little hamlet, with 
its painted buildings, its neat lawns, separated by 
low, well trimmed hedges. Mrs. Berwick had taken 
great pains to procure hardy perennial plants for 
those who were fond of flowers, and had assisted 
them in designing the plots and arranging the bed. 
A love for the beautiful develops by contact, and 
she discovered that all the tenants wanted flowers as 
they saw them blooming in their neighbors’ gard- 
ens. So kindliness develops by exercise, and the 
more she did for these innocent, "grateful people, the 
more anxious she became that each garden should 
have its flowers and every home its simple comforts, 
which only can bring content and happiness. And 
glad she was that Glenloch grounds contained large 
and well-stocked plots and beds of the kind of plants 
which she needed, and in the spring the overgrowth, 
the thinning out, and the culling of these were 
enough to supply her little colony. Beautiful sur- 
roundings have an elevating influence; and Mrs. 
Berwick observed with surprise and delight that an 
air of refinement began to manifest itself among the 
tenantry, and the awkward politeness which at first 
was only accorded to herself soon became easy and 
natural, and was extended to each other. 

And thus Clyde succeeded with his estate, and 
his father rejoiced in his prosperity, but still more 


228 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


in the ability by which he had won success. But 
Belmont was an enigma to his friends. In social 
gatherings he was the attraction and often the cov- 
eted prize. He was charming in conversation and 
graciousness, but the impartiality with which he dis- 
tributed his favors was often a surprise and subject 
of discussion among the recipients. After passing 
a delightful evening at a gathering where Belmont 
was present, two young ladies — cousins — discuss him 
quite freely at their home. 

“Well, we have seen the Adonis and shared equally 
in his attentions with the rest of the crowd. ” 

“Yes,” the cousin replied, “and I watched him 
closely, for I had heard that he was impervious to 
all feelings or sentiments to which other helpless 
mortals are subject; and I am ready to affirm that 
the oldest and least attractive ladies in the company 
receive his most smiling ?nd flattering attentions. 
There was poor little Mrs. Dorchester, who always 
seems out of place in our set — who really looked 
quite beautiful as her countenance lighted up while 
he talked in regard to his travels and other bookish 
things which she readily comprehended, saying that 
she had visited the same countries many years pre- 
vious and it was like renewing her acquaintance 
with old friends to listen to his conversation; and 
she followed him with regretful looks as he left with 
bows and smiles which would have caused some of 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


229 


us hopeless heartaches for the remainder of our 
lives. ” 

“You are just right,” rejoined her companion, “for, 
when mamma and I were introduced, I wished I were 
she, there was so much more of warmth and hearti- 
ness expressed toward her than to myself. I noticed 
him evefywhere. Brilliant, courtly, magnificent — like 
a splendid iceberg that has broken from its moorings 
and is floating aimlessly along, careless of winds or 
waves or tides, gorgeous in the sunshine, with pearls 
and diamonds and rainbows; but woe betide the 
hapless mariner who, attracted by this splendor, shall 
venture too near. But I’d sacrifice my chance of 
winning him to know his history. Evidently he is 
much older than he looks, and somewhere along the 
past he has met his doom. And I tell you, little 
coz., he is simply drifting, scarcely expecting or hop 1 ' 
ing to find the desired haven. And, what is more, if 
he should offer to make me his wife to-night, I 
should turn away with a shiver, knowing that con- 
tact with an iceberg is death.” 

But Belmont experienced more perplexity than all 
others in reference to this subject. He saw many 
beautiful and accomplished women, in every way 
worthy of himself, and he did admire and could 
have loved them, only for the one unfortunate infat- 
uation of his early life. There were words and ways 
and smiles, and a pair of pleading eyes that looked 


230 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


into his from beyond the half-score of years which 
stretched between then and now. There had been 
exchange of confidence; there had been perils known 
and shared by themselves alone; and, to complete 
the bondage which held him to the past, there was 
a destiny unknown to him which would forever claim 
his anxiety and his pity. Since he embarked for 
Scotland no tidings had reached him from America. 
Even Nora, whom he had relied upon for informa- 
tion, had failed him, and she, like the others, had 
passed into oblivion. His judgment told him that 
evidently there had been a reconciliation, and the 
husband and wife were living happily together once 
more. At all events, she never could be aught to 
him. He admitted that she was far from perfect, 
and, with arguments pro and con, he finally dis- 
missed the case and turned his attention to business; 
but, in less time than it took to argue the subject 
away, he detected himself wishing with an unuttera- 
ble longing to see her once more and learn her fate. 
At this discovery, a feeling of infinite disgust at his 
stupid weakness took possession of him, and he 
declared himself an imbecile and idiot, while he 
thought of the unspeakable humiliation he should 
experience to have his most trusted friend know of 
his insane passion, and again, with a sharp struggle, 
he finally banished the thought from his mind. Oc- 
casionally he imagined that he had conquered, and 



Through the vagaries of his dreams he felt her presence.— 
Page 232. 


232 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


would hardly give the subject a thought for weeks 
together; but if any problem or question in regard 
to himself arose which involved the opinion of others, 
instantly the past would return, and he realized that 
her approval with him would outweigh the entire 
world put into the opposite balance. Often at night, 
when his mind, relaxed from the toils of the day, 
and his will, like a weary sentinel, had relinquished 
its watchfulness, through the vagaries of his dreams 
he felt her presence, her hand upon his arm, her 
eyes looked into his, and the witchery of her smile 
held him with the old enchantment, and in the morn- 
ing he knew that the bondage had never ceased; and 
this fact was the one humiliation of his life, without 
recompense or relief. 

At this crisis of affairs he remembered a conver- 
sation which he had heard unintentionally several 
years before. One of the individuals was a bright, 
talented man in middle life, the other an elderly 
gentleman from a distant city. Business interests 
had brought them together, but when Norton, the 
young man, learned that his visitor was from the 
city of B — , he inquired if he was acquainted with 
a family by the name of Mills. Receiving an affirm- 
ative answer, he said: 

"The daughter Grace is married, I believe. I used 
to know her, and I loved her better than I shall ever 
love again. We were engaged to be married, but 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


233 


unfortunate circumstances parted us, and I drifted 
away out here, while she married, and after a time I 
married also. But my wife is now dead, and I tell 
you truly, I would walk half round the globe to see 
Grace once more. Do you know where she lives?” 

The stranger replied: “I think she removed to 
some distant state. But if you should see her you 
would be greatly disappointed, as she has been an 
invalid for several years, and is quite deaf and 
greatly changed.” 

‘‘But she would never disappoint me,” Norton re- 
plied with earnestness. ‘‘I should be willing to die 
if I could but see her once again.” 

“Well,” the stranger replied incredulously, "I do 
wish you could see her, as it would certainly disen- 
chant you, and nothing else will.” 

This conversation came to Belmont, and its rec- 
ollection was a gleam of hope in the present dilem- 
ma, and he determined to try the experiment at all 
hazards, as his present life was becoming unbear- 
able. So, early in the spring, Belmont made arrange- 
ments with his Uncle Berwick for a vacation of a 
few months. It hardly seemed possible that he had 
been in his employ for ten years, but such was the 
fact, and Mr. Berwick granted his request very cor- 
dially, adding, “I think Clyde can take the place 
during your absence, as his estate has reached a 
point where it needs very little of his personal su- 
pervision. " 


2 34 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


Belmont now, with some misgivings, broached the 
subject of going to America to his father, and was 
amazed at the manner in which the information was 
received. Douglas rose up quickly and commenced 
walking the floor. 

“It is just what I have wanted so long,” he said 
with animation, “but how to accomplish it I knew 
not. I could not decide to go alone, and I knew 
that you must not leave your business. God is in- 
deed good to me, although I have rebelled so long 
against his providence,” — and he sat down, exhaust- 
ed by his emotions. Although he gave no reason 
for wishing to visit America, yet Belmont defined 
in his own heart that a lone grave in a potter’s field 
was the attraction. So they arranged for the journey 
— one in search of the living, the other attracted by 
the dead, while each carefully guarded his own 
secret. 

Hinda was next consulted, and the desire expressed 
in her countenance as it lighted up and she quickly 
clasped her hands appealed to Belmont’s affection 
for her, and, without waiting, he said, "We shall 
need you to take care of us; so you will not refuse 
to go." 

It was a pleasant day in May when the three em- 
barked for America — a country which Hinda had 
visited once before when a girl with her brother, who 
was in search .of his bride. Well did she remember 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


235 


the noisy city of New York, with its bewildering 
maze of streets and houses, its great jostling crowd 
of hurrying people, and the utter loneliness she ex- 
perienced, as each face was strange and each voice 
unfamiliar. Then she thought of the bitterness and 
heartache of her brother, which for his sake she 
shared, as he sought the well known places, but his 
wife was not there. The house formerly owned by 
Mrs. Vane and the home of Eulalia was now occu- 
pied by strangers, and they only knew that Mrs. 
Vane had gone South, where she had died a short 
time previous; but of the young lady for whom her 
brother inquired they knew nothing. The recollec- 
tion of the whole transaction came to Hinda now like 
a search for a beautiful young bird among the empty 
brown nests of a late and dreary autumn. The grief, 
the despair, and the despondency which followed 
her brother’s disappointment were appalling, and 
even now Hinda could scarcely contemplate it with- 
out a shudder. And these were the reminiscences 
which filled her mind as the great palace steamer, 
with gigantic strokes and banners of steam and 
breath of flame, urged onward through the parting 
billows toward the western shores. 

The voyage was uneventful, and when they reached 
New York, Belmont felt perfectly at home. They 
stopped for the present at a hotel near Union Square, 
as a central location of easy access to all parts of 


236 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


the city. He had been rather quiet and somewhat 
absent-minded during the voyage, while his father 
likewise seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts, 
It was late in the day when the steamer reached th 
pier, and the care of their baggage, together with 
comfortably locating themselves, occupied the re- 
mainder of the day. They retired to their rooms early 
in the evening to rest or plan for the morrow, as 
their mood might indicate. 

One thing was certain — Belmont could not rest, 
and, leaving his room, he went out and took the 
cars for Harlem. He could not sleep without know- 
ing if Lasure still lived in the old locality. He 
•found the city so grown and improved that he could 
scarcely find the neighborhood which he sought. Ten 
years had made a wonderful change, as he now saw 
elegant houses occupying the site where had stood 
old frame buildings. One Hundred and Twenty- 
fifth Street had become one of the main thoroughfares 
and business streets of the city. Mount Morris 
Park and its old tower, with its marvelous memories, 
was the same, except as it had felt the touch of the 
general progress and was improved and beautified. 
At last he found the residence that Lasure had oc- 
cupied when he visited there so frequently, but it 
also was much changed, having been remodeled to 
correspond with the surroundings. His heart beat 
fast, and his courage almost failed as he rang the 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


237 


bell. The servant ushered him into the parlor and 
took his card to the master of the house. Belmont 
observed that everything was changed. There was 
not an ornament or an article of furniture which he 
recognized. Presently an elderly gentleman came, 
and Belmont, rising, introduced himself and ex- 
plained that a friend of his, Mr. Lasure, formerly 
occupied this house, and he expected to find him 
here on his present return from Scotland. At the 
mention of Scotland the gentleman asked Belmont to 
be seated, announcing his own name as MacDonald, 
and continued, “I came from Scotland many years 
ago, but have made several visits to that country 
since. I believe a Scotchman always loves his na- 
tive land, and it has charms for me now which no 
other place possesses. My father’s property was 
near the old famous Berwick estate, but when it 
came into my hands I sold it, as, being at such a 
distance, it could not be managed successfully or to 
financial advantage, and that is always a reason to a 
Scotchman,” he added, laughing, “as they are noted, 

I believe, for thrift in business matters. ” 

Belmont told MacDonald that his home was at 
present in Edinburgh, but he was quite familiar with 
the Berwick estate, and he judged from his descrip- 
tion that the property of which he was speaking had 
been purchased by Mr. Berwick and was now greatly 
improved and at present owned by Clyde, a grand 
s«n of the baron. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


238 

Mr. MacDonald seemed delighted that the property 
had gone into the hands of so distinguished a family 
and had been put into excellent order, for somehow 
he could not quite separate himself from the old 
homestead and the scenes of his childhood, and he 
never tired of asking questions pertaining to the 
subject. At another time Belmont would have been 
pleased to contribute to Mr. MacDonald’s pleasure 
by this information, but now he was exasperated. 
He had not been given the slightest opportunity of 
inquiring in regard to the family which at present 
interested him more than all things beside. Sud- 
denly Belmont ceased speaking and, looking at his 
watch, arose to go. At this abrupt termination, 
Mr. MacDonald, with a surprised look, made a quick 
trip from Scotland to his own parlor, while he said, 
“I beg your pardon for thus monopolizing your time, 
and will gladly return the compliment by giving you 
all the information I possess in regard to your own 
matters;” and he motioned Belmont to be seated. 
“Let me see,” he continued, “you asked about Mr. 
Lasure, a young lawyer who formerly lived here. I 
never saw the gentleman but once, and that was 
when I came to look at this property with a view of 
purchasing. He was at home, and courteously showed 
me through the house, explaining that his wife was 
in the country for her health. As I remember, he 
was a fine, dignified person, with a reserved and pre- 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


239 


occupied manner. Soon after I came up here I 
learned that the family had received a large legacy 
and had removed to San Francisco in California.” 

At this intelligence Belmont started and turned 
pale, which his companion observing, said, “I see 
that you are disappointed at not meeting them, and 
I regret that the information which I impart could 
not have given you as much pleasure as I received 
from you. But I will tell you, my young friend, a 
trip to California would be in every way delightful, 
if you could so arrange. ” And, wishing him success, 
with a hearty invitation to call again they separated. 

Belmont was sorely disappointed as he returned 
to his lodgings that evening, but he had decided to 
act upon Mr. MacDonald’s suggestion and go to Cal- 
ifornia. If his father and Hinda did not choose to 
accompany him, they could return to Scotland at 
any time they pleased. And with this perplexing 
matter settled, he retired and soon fell asleep. 

They all rose early, and after breakfast Belmont 
placed himself at his father’s disposal, and, with a 
subdued and pitiful manner, Douglas said, "I should 
like to go out to Eulalia’s grave.” 

Belmont ordered a carriage, and they were driven 
to the cemetery where, passing into the hospital 
grounds, they soon reached the spot and stood there 
in silent grief, as sincere mourners as ever wept be- 
fore the proudest mausoleum. 


240 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


The lettering on the board was perfectly plain, 
although weather-beaten and stained by storms and 
years. Douglas was overwhelmed with grief, and 
felt that he could not live with her so near, after 
all these years of uncertainty and agony, and yet 
without the power of even seeing her or taking her 
in his arms once more and comforting her in those 
hours of sorest need and distress. He was as one 
who suffers all the human heart can bear, and yet for 
whom there is no remedy. After they returned, 
Douglas communicated the fact that he intended to 
have his wife’s remains disinterred and placed in 
Greenwood Cemetery, and Belmont took the super- 
vision of this matter. 

This evening he excused himself at an early hour 
and went out to find Mr. Montpier, his foster father. 
When he reached the residence everything was so 
unchanged that it seemed but yesterday since he 
went from this place, which should be home to him 
no longer. He rang the bell, and the servant ushered 
him into the parlor. Had but one evening passed 
since his absence, things could not have been more 
natural and familiar. Soon Mr. Montpier came in, 
and they recognized each other immediately, as 
neither had materially changed. To be sure, Mont- 
pier had a few more grey hairs and in general ap- 
pearance was somewhat older, but he was the same 
stately, august person, with the easy carriage and 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


24I 


melodious voice which characterized him in the 
years agone. He was truly delighted to see his 
visitor; and expressed the same with an effusiveness 
which Belmont had never before witnessed, and it 
declared a loneliness and a hunger for companion- 
ship which was indeed a new revelation in con- 
nection with this self-contained man. Belmont’s 
sympathies were all enlisted in Montpier’s behalf, 
and he talked very freely to him of his life in Scot- 
land, of his relatives, of his enjoyments, and of his 
future prospects. Montpier listened with thorough 
appreciation, and when he learned that the father 
and aunt of Belmont were in the city, he insisted 
that they should be entertained at his house during 
their stay in New York. In consonance with this, 
he said he would send a carriage for them at nine 
o’clock in the morning; and then, bidding Belmont 
a cheerful good-bye, he returned to the parlor, ex- 
periencing an undefined pleasure, as though some 
unexpected good fortune had come to him. 

The carriage arrived promptly at nine o’clock, 
and the Douglas family were transferred from the 
hotel at Union Square to the elegant residence of 
Montpier in the heart of the city. Their host was 
in waiting, and his gracious reception, devoid of 
unnecessary formality, placed every one at ease, 
with an acceptable home feeling which is impossi- 
ble at a hotel. 


242 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


As improper as the occurrence may appear, and 
as unwise as it would seem to state the fact, Hinda 
admired their host more than any person she had 
ever known. She liked the tall, magnificent man, 
and was not in the least awed by his dignified, state- 
ly manner, while his melodious voice and musical 
laugh charmed her as no other melody ever had done. 
And it must be confessed, with equal trepidation, 
that Montpier thought Hinda one of the brightest, 
most sensible women he had ever met, while her 
total obliviousness to any superiority because of his 
distinguished ways pleased him much, as it allowed 
their intercourse to be natural and sincere, without 
either patronage or distrust. She entered heartily 
into all their discussions, and gave her opinion with 
an understanding of their practical merits which 
was quite a surprise to this man of the world, 
whose intercourse with society had induced him to 
believe that women’s ideas were superficial, unreal, 
and effeminate. His wife had been a sweet, affec- 
tionate woman, whose clinging helplessness and ten- 
derness had been one of the strongest appeals to his 
nature; but he had never since found any one who 
could take her place or make one for herself in his 
heart. The luxury of depending on any one, or feel- 
ing that he was being taken care of or watched over 
by a strong, loving, helpful heart, he had never en- 
joyed, but he had now reached a period in life when 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


243 


a new experience which gave him pleasure was 
grasped and prized and closely held, as a miser 
hoards and counts and clings to the last gold from 
an empty treasury. 

Belmont had told Montpier of his father’s desire 
to remove his wife’s remains to Greenwood Ceme- 
tery, and he immediately offered room in his own 
plot for that purpose. He then recommended an 
undertaker, who superintended the work. After a few 
days, all the arrangements being completed, the re- 
mains having been placed in an elegant casket, the 
hearse, a carriage carrying the bearers, and Mont- 
pier’ s barouche with the mourners and himself, took 
up the long march toward the cemetery. It was 
some time past the noon hour when they reached 
the gateway leading into this silent city. They 
passed through and commenced threading their way 
amid the intricacies of the innumerable streets and 
avenues. Voiceless was its mighty multitude, 
deserted its echoless streets save by the few who 
brought their sacred offerings, baptized and oft- 
times redeemed through suffering, and consecrated 
by undying affection, and hid them away in the vast 
treasure house of the eternities. Long shadows 
spanned like arches the driveway; flowers blossomed 
and nodded silently as the breeze passed by, and 
there was a monotonous sound of crushed gravel as 
the carriage wheels moved slowly along. Marble 


244 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


images of alabaster whiteness, deftly carved, and 
beautiful as white, looked with eyes that saw not 
through the intervening trees, ever lifting hands 
heavenward in mute beseeching. Angels with half- 
spread wings stood beneath oriental canopies of 
carved stone and kept ceaseless vigils over the restful 
sleepers. Gates ajar that never swung to the touch 
of any hand typified the golden gate of the eternal 
city. There were cherubs and flowers, crowns and 
crosses, broken shaft and broken rose branch, em- 
blems, scattered everywhere, telling how love sym- 
bolizes itself in cold, still marble. At last they 
reached their destination — the place toward which 
all the world is ever traveling — an open grave — 
and there, with tender, reverent hands and aching 
hearts, they laid the sweet, confiding bride — the 
young and hapless mother — near the place where 
another loved and loving wife had slept so many 
years. After the lapse of a few days N a monument 
was placed over the grave of Eulalia which was 
almost a duplicate of the one that marked the tomb 
of Mrs. Montpier. And so the two young mothers 
slept side by side, careless through all the coming 
years of either joy or sorrow which mayhap shall fill 
the hearts of those who loved them so. 

Belmont now was desirous of completing his 
journey. He told his father and Hinda that he had 
decided to continue his travels as far as the Pacific 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


245 


coast; and then, without explanation or argument, 
he waited their reply. Hinda, who had become 
almost infatuated with the attractions and inspira- 
tions of her new life during the past few years, was 
delighted, and replied, “Of course if you go we shall 
go also, and nothing could please me more.” 

But Mr. Douglas was silent. After a while he 
said, with slight hesitation, “Belmont, I should like 
to see Nora.” 

The old heart-ache was there yet, and it looked 
from beseeching eyes and spoke in the accents of 
his voice. 

“But I do not know where she is, father, and I 
know not how to find her. ” 

“Have you no clew?” asked Douglas. 

“No; and she is one that cannot be found by or- 
dinary means. Her going is like the disappearing 
of a shadow, leaving no trace to show that it ever 
existed. ” 

A resigned sigh was his father’s only response. 
But soon he said: “If Hinda wishes to go, I shall 
be glad for her sake. She has always sacrificed for 
me — ” 

“And besides,” added Belmont, “we would be 
quite as confident of finding Nora in California as 
in any place on the globe.” 

As he said this, and then remembered that Las- 
ure’s family were there, the suggestion that Nora 


246 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


might be in California came to his mind with the 
definiteness of an absolute certainty; but he said 
nothing further in regard to it. 

There was a problem in Hinda's mind which per- 
plexed her not a little, and she saw no way of treat- 
ing it in her usual frank, practical manner. She felt 
a considerable delicacy about discussing it even in 
her own mind; but at last she decided to have a 
perfect understanding of the subject — at least with 
herself, and the debate which followed was quite an 
animated one. She opened proceedings alone in her 
own room that evening by saying, “Yes, I know all 
about this, and there is no use in denying the facts 
in the case. I am happier where Montpier is than 
where he is not, and I have a right to be; for he is a 
bright, entertaining, attractive man, and I should be 
stupid not to appreciate it. We are his guests, and 
of course he feels that as host he must be agreeable 
and make things pleasant for us. This is quite right 
and sensible, and I have no right to interpret his 
cordiality in any other way. ” And here, with a half 
weary sigh, she added, “How . I wish I dare hope all 
that his manner sometimes suggests!” 

Here she sat looking into futurity for awhile, 
scarcely breathing or stirring, and then, with another 
sigh, she returned to the subject. 

“I know I can never be anything more to him 
than a friend, but it is the first romance of my life, 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


2 4 7 


and I’ll enjoy it while I can, and be happy in his 
presence during our stay, and let the future take 
care of itself.” But another sigh closed the sen- 
tence. Again she sat quietly musing for a long time, 
when suddenly a new light shone in her countenance, 
and, as usual when excited, she quickly clasped her 
hands and exclaimed: 

“I do wish he were going with us. Perhaps he 
might if Belmont would only ask him.” 

She never before was so perplexed. She knew what 
ought to be done, but she could not do it herself, 
and delicacy forbade her speaking to Belmont in 
reference to the subject. To invite Montpier to ac- 
company them was such a natural, easy thing to do, 
but the difficulty was, how should she get it accom- 
plished. Finally, weary with her cogitations, she 
retired for the night; but it was her first thought in 
the morning, and engrossed her attention during the 
day. 

In the evening, as they all sat talking together, 
Belmont broached the subject by saying that they 
had decided to go on to California from New York, 
and, as they had already made Montpier a long vis- 
it, taxing his hospitality and kindness beyond any 
hope of ever repaying, they should go directly as 
soon as they could arrange for the journey. As he 
commenced speaking, Hinda looked down at her 
hands and began picking the leaves from some flow- 


248 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


ers which she had at her belt; but the anxiety she 
felt reached its climax when Belmont supplemented 
this information with a very earnest request that 
Montpier should accompany them on their Western 
trip. There was a moment’s silence, and Hinda 
could endure the suspense no longer, and she cau- 
tiously looked at Montpier. Their eyes met — it was 
only for a moment, and then each turned away, but 
that glance, with all the interchange of thought and 
feeling which flooded their souls, was an open vol- 
ume, glorified with a prophecy and a promise which 
might crown their lives in the future, — sealed to all 
others, but to them needing not an interpreter. And 
yet, strange as it may seem, the old freedom and 
familiarity had gone They did not talk together 
that evening, and seemed oblivious to each other’ s 
presence. And thus do we, with jealous care, cover 
our dearest treasures, shutting them even from our- 
selves, lest vandal hand or eye should note their 
presence. 

Montpier made some inquiries in regard to what 
places they intended to visit, and then said, “I have 
never been to the far West, and will accompany you 
with pleasure.” 

Hinda was not surprised at the reply, for she 
knew what it would be. Only a few days elapsed 
after this decision was reached before the Douglas 
family and Montpier were on their way to the Pacific 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


249 


coast. As Belmont had suggested the trip and was 
the only one of the company who seemed to have any 
particular object in view, he was allowed to order 
the movements of the party; and yet had any one 
criticised his doings or analyzed his motives, they 
would have discovered nothing definite except an 
apparently unnecessary and unexplained anxiety to 
reach San Francisco. He seemed impatient of any 
delay, and was quiet and preoccupied. The grand- 
est scenery had small attractions for him, and the 
large cities none; and under his guidance they 
reached the seaside city with few delays and in 
good time. The remainder of the day after their 
arrival was spent in the usual manner of locating 
themselves and their baggage. 


CHAPTER XI. 


Belmont, before he left New York, had gone to 
the place which was formerly his Uncle Belmont’s 
office and ascertained Lasure’s address in San Fran- 
cisco. The morning after their arrival was one of 
the loveliest in early June. The city was beautiful 
with magnificent edifices, shade-trees, flowers, and 
lawns. Except in the business streets, the buildings 
were not crowded together, but stood at easy dis- 
tances, with lawns and grounds between. But the 
mountains in every direction, as well as the nearer 
hills, were barren, brown, and desolate. The waters 
of the bay were shining and tranquil as they stretched 
away through the Golden Gate out to the placid sea. 
There was the hurry and bustle of a great city all 
around. Belmont could curb his impatience no 
longer; and, going to his father’s room, he told him 
that he should take an early breakfast and then go 
out for a look at the city, and should leave the rest 
of the party to occupy their time as they pleased 
until his return. 

He ordered breakfast, but ate little, and without 
250 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


251 


appetite or relish; then, examining a map of the 
city which hung in the office, to ascertain the route 
and direction to California Street, he left the hotel 
and went in the direction of that locality. He found 
the place and number designated as Lasure’s to be 
a fine residence on a sightly elevation in a fashion- 
able neighborhood. It stood back from the street, 
with lawn and shade-trees in front, while at one 
side, and farther back than the house, was a pavil- 
ion of oriental construction, with pagoda roof and 
miniature turrets — a cool, attractive retreat when 
tired of indoor surroundings. Still farther beyond 
was a small summer-house nearly in the corner of 
the grounds. Flowering shrubbery, evergreens and 
clinging vines almost obscured it from sight, while 
near by a fountain sent up a jet which fell in mist 
into a marble urn where nymphs in graceful attitude 
held goblets chiseled in mythological design, which 
overflowed with the clear, cool water. The scene 
was peaceful and elegant in the extreme. Belmont 
noted all this as he passed by down the street, but 
he saw no one about the house or in the grounds. 
He looked at his watch. It was near nine o’clock. 
He realized that his malady — a morbid sentimental- 
ism — demanded heroic treatment to establish a per- 
manent cure, and he fully determined that he would 
see Mrs. Lasure divested of the extraordinary and 
in her natural, every-day surroundings — that is, if 


252 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


he saw her at all. It must be remembered that he 
had never learned whether or not she had ever re- 
turned to her family. 

He had passed the house a long way backhand he 
now retraced his steps; and as he went up the 
shaded walk toward the house a lady came out and, 
without observing him, passed on into the pavilion. 
He thought at first it was Mrs. Lasure, and his 
heart gave one great bound and then seemed to stand 
still, while he was so agitated that he was thankful 
that she did not see him and he was not obliged to 
meet her under the present embarrassment. He 
passed on and rang the bell, but there was no re- 
sponse. After waiting some time and recovering his 
usual composure, he ventured to follow to the pa- 
vilion. The lady had taken the farthest seat from 
the entrance, near a high, broad arch which looked 
westward toward the ocean. Morning-glories par- 
tially filled the opening, clinging to a narrow trellis 
which bordered the space, and swinging carelessly 
in the morning breeze their delicately tinted, trans- 
parent bells. 

The occupant of this enchanting place was dressed 
in white of soft, gauzy material, which clung but 
loosely about her graceful form. The sleeves were 
large and loose, but confined at the elbow with rib- 
bons of a delicate shade of pink. A sash of the 
same tint carelessly girded her waist, and there were 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


253 


pink rose-buds in her hair and at her throat. She 
was taller than Mrs. Lasure, -and more graceful in 
form. Her hair was several shades lighter than her 
mother’s, for such he judged to be the relationship 
between the two. She was reading, and as he saw her 
thus through the spacious archway of the pavilion, 
she seemed almost an exact likeness of what Mrs. 
Lasure. was when he met her first on that eventful 
evening; and, in spite of all his efforts, a thrill of 
the old ecstasy swept through his heart as he stood 
for a moment before announcing his presence, which 
he did by a gentle rap on the pillar of the arched 
doorway. 

With a start she looked up, and he immediately 
came forward and introduced himself as Belmont 
Montpier, a former friend of the family. Her look 
of surprise changed to one of pleasure, as she now 
remembered having seen him several times in her 
childhood. 

To an ordinary observer, Alice — for it was she — 
was perhaps not as handsome as her mother had 
been, but her eyes were far more beautiful — like her 
father’s — large, dark, and lustrous. She rose and ex- 
tended her hand in cordial greeting, which Belmont 
took with a sort of reverence, in memory of the long 
ago; and it was with the utmost effort that he could 
prevent himself from raising it to his lips. His 
earnestness of manner and admiring — almost wor- 


254 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


shipful — look did not escape her notice; and he ob- 
served a flush of discomfort and embarrassment in 
her countenance, and, with the ease and grace of the 
accomplished gentleman which he was, he said: 

“You must pardon me, for it has been so long 
since I have seen any of my friends in America, and 
you remind me so much of both your father and your 
mother that I fear I am rude in my expressions of 
delight at meeting you, because of the old-time 
associations which can never be forgotten, and for 
which I have hungered and longed all these years.” 

Alice was reassured, and her sympathies were 
enlisted in his behalf, and she replied with the ut- 
most simplicity and sincerity: 

“I am very glad that I remind you of my parents, 
if it is the least comfort to you, for it must be dread- 
ful to go so far away and stay so long from those 
we have known and loved.” And she looked into 
his face with eyes full of pity; but her gaze fell be- 
neath his, and the faint flush came to her cheeks 
again. 

Belmont arose and went to the archway and looked 
out toward the ocean. A bright sheen lay along the 
horizon, telling that the glossy waters of the Pacific 
were reflecting back the sunshine of the sky. He 
said something, he hardly knew what, about the 
beauty of the scenery, and still looked toward the 
ocean. He could not trust himself, for into every 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


255 


avenue of his being had come an almost unconquer- 
able desire to gather this little child — this sweet and 
graceful woman — just for one moment in his arms 
and hold her with one loving clasp against his throb- 
bing heart. It was the reaction of a thousand heart- 
aches and misgivings which had followed him so 
many years, but at last had ended, and he knew 
that he was free from the old tyranny, although a 
willing slave to a new. 

Fortunately in this dilemma he remembered that 
he had not yet inquired in regard to the family; and 
with this diversion of his thoughts, he turned and, 
again sitting down, asked if her parents were in 
town. She replied by telling him that her father and 
mother, with the rest of the family, had gone out to 
the Golden Gate with a party of friends for a pic- 
nic and a day’s outing. Then he inquired particu- 
larly about the family, and she proceeded to tell 
him of their coming West, and how lonely they 
were for a time, as things were so different from 
what they had been accustomed to. 

"But,” she continued, "after a while Nora, the 
‘Kodak Woman’ as we used to call her, came to 
the city, and we persuaded her to live with us. Did 
you know her?” she asked, as Belmont started, 
while an eager look came into his face at the men- 
tion of Nora’s name. 

"Yes,” he replied, "and we were quite friends, 


256 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


and I should like much to see her. Is she still liv- 
ing with you?” 

“Yes, she has gone to the seashore with the 
others. ” 

Belmont now looked at his watch and found it later 
than he had supposed, and, again expressing delight 
at having met her, he rose to go. 

“You will come again to-morrow and see us all,” 
she asked, “and bring your friends with you?” 

He replied in the affirmative, and, bidding her 
good morning, he left t he pavilion and returned to 
the hotel. 

As it was near noon, he, with the rest of the 
family, remained in until after dinner. He told them 
that he had found Mr. Lasure, who was formerly 
Mr. Belmont’s attorney, but as the family were out 
of the city for the day, they would have to wait un- 
til to-morrow for an opportunity of forming their 
acquaintance. He said nothing about Nora, as he 
thought it would be better for his father to make her 
acquaintance as an ordinary individual than to be 
harassed by the suspense of waiting, and the con- 
jecture and uncertainty which otherwise would ensue. 
At the name of Lasure, Montpier remembered the 
will case, the legacy, the lawyer, and all matters 
pertaining thereto, and he could not but prefer that 
the meeting with this man need not take place. He 
might have wished himself at home had Hinda been 
there also. But there was no alternative. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


257 


In the morning they repaired to the house of Las- 
ure quite early and found the whole family bright 
with anticipation and on the qui vive to meet them. 
The formalities of an introduction and the greeting 
lost much of their frigidity by many fond recollec- 
tions and the hearty cordiality and good will of all. 
Especially were the feelings of Montpier relieved 
and gratified by the delicate courtesy and deference 
with which Lasure accorded to him the place of 
honor among his guests. Belmont greeted Nora most 
warmly and affectionately, finding her somewhat 
changed, but for the better in every respect, for her 
uneventful, happy life during the past few years had 
smoothed the former asperities and peculiarities of 
her otherwise admirable character. This showed 
in the quiet gentleness of a face which still retained 
much of its oriental contour and beauty. She ac- 
companied Belmont to where Douglas was sitting, 
and he introduced her as an old friend of his whom 
he was most happy and surprised to meet. As Doug- 
las arose to greet her, he at once recognized in her 
dark eyes, olive complexion, and Grecian features 
a type of womanhood seldom met; and quickly he 
thought of what Belmont had said about finding 
Nora in California; and before they had conversed 
many minutes he decided in his own mind that this 
was she, and a sense of gratification and relief im- 
mediately took possession of his mind. 


258 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


Belmont met Mrs. Lasure with perfect compos- 
ure, as though their former acquaintance had been 
only commonplace and uneventful, and she returned 
his greeting in exactly the same manner except the 
addition of a slight hauteur; for she had never 
been able to divest her mind of the impression that 
to some extent her confidence had been betrayed. 
Nora had observed this feeling of distrust in Mrs. 
Lasure whenever they had talked in regard to Bel- 
mont, and she had been very careful not to dissipate 
the same, as she considered it an excellent remedy 
for the blind infatuation which once possessed her. 

To Belmont, Mrs. Lasure seemed more changed 
than any one else. She had grown stouter, her face 
had broadened and lost its youthful vivacity, and a 
sedate, matronly expression had taken its place. 
She was still a fine-looking and sensible appearing 
woman, but O, how far removed from the enchant- 
ress of other days! 

In his family, Lasure manifested very little of his 
old imperiousness, being a careful, considerate 
father, and, he thought, a model husband; and Mrs. 
Lasure had no reason to question his opinion. 
Among his colleagues, however, the same old haugh- 
tiness was displayed, and he came to be known in 
their circle as "the Duke." But his legal opinion 
was respected almost as much as the printed stat- 
utes. He was an indefatigable student, a profound 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


259 


reasoner, and one of the ablest jurists in all the 
West, and, later, a judge of the Supreme Court. 

Later in the day Frank came in, a promising 
young man of eighteen. He had a dark complexion, 
with features which might be called distinguished 
rather than handsome. He was a college gradu- 
ate, now studying law in his father’s office. With 
impulsive manners and ready wit, he was a bright, 
chatty, pleasant companion. 

After school, Norma came in and was presented 
also. She had been a “queenly little girl, ’’but how 
much more so in her teens! Her graceful form, her 
easy, gliding movements, with her father’s imperi- 
ous dignity, caused you almost to hold your breath 
as she offered her salutations. There were no tu- 
mults in the atmosphere where she presided. She 
seemed at least five years in advance of her age in 
every respect. When once asked how she had ever 
reached such an equilibrium of character, she re- 
plied : 

“I have been studying and moulding Norma ever 
since I can remember. The most vivid recollection 
of my early life is the pain I experienced at criti- 
cism and correction, and this naturally led me to 
avoid all those occasions which gave me such dis- 
comfort. I sometimes think that I never feel the 
exalted, exquisite delight which I should if I allowed 
my emotions and my affections to flow freely in nat- 


26 o 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


ural channels; but the terror of climaxes and scenes 
holds me with omnipotent dread.” 

With acute sensibilities, and an intelligence be- 
yond her years, she mastered everything she at- 
tempted, by natural methods or a supreme force of 
will. She was devoted to books. They captivated 
her, and she studied lives and character and then 
exhibited their influence in the moulding and polish- 
ing of her own. The perfect in everything she at- 
tempted was her standard, and probably in all that 
great city there was no girl of her age who could 
so finely and charmingly entertain, in the broadest 
sense of the term, as could Norma Lasure. 

Belmont was given a surprise in a little girl, 
seemingly about seven or eight years old, who also 
came from school and was introduced as Jessie, the 
“baby of the family.” She had always been a ray 
of sunshine in the house— loving and good-natured, 
but brimming over with mischief which never could 
be repressed. Her kindness of heart only at times 
prevented this from becoming intolerable. There 
were little surprises and childish escapades always 
happening in her vicinity, while the only evidence 
of her being the offender was in her unusually sol- 
emn and decorous countenance on these occasions. 
This natural drollery or frolic rippled through all 
her nature, shone in her eyes, expressed itself in her 
movements, and called her attention to the most or- 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


26l 


dinary occurrences, which she turned into comedy 
for the diversion of others. 

The* day passed pleasantly, Douglas and Nora 
naturally taking an interest in each other, but he 
did not venture to make any allusion to what inter- 
ested him most. Early in the evening they returned 
to the hotel and assembled in Mr. Douglas’ room to 
hold council in regard to their further movements. 
Montpier was greatly in favor of spending the time 
while in California in sight-seeing, which Hinda 
heartily approved, but Mr. Douglas, without saying 
it, was anxious to talk with Nora. Belmont said 
but little, only suggesting that there were several 
places of interest to be visited previous to leaving 
San Francisco, and mentioned Lone Mountain 
Cemetery, the Golden Gate, and the park by the 
same name, the seal rocks a few miles away on the 
coast, and some fine views of the city and ocean 
from Sentinel Peak near by. But, although he talked 
little, his thoughts were not idle, and when he ex- 
cused himself soon after and went to his room, it 
was to execute the plans which he had formed dur- 
ing the last half hour. He immediately dispatched 
a note by a messenger to Nora, asking her for an 
interview at nine o’clock the next morning at Cliff 
House. 

The message had without doubt reached her, and 
he was sure she would comply with his request, but 


262 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


the object of this interview and how he should pre- 
sent it to her, were questions which disturbed him 
not a little. The facts were clear in his own mind, 
with many reasons for their practicability and feasi- 
bility, but would she see it in the same light as 
himself? First, she must accompany them in their fur- 
ther travels in California, for in this way only could 
Douglas find opportunity for the uninterrupted, 
familiar intercourse by which he could obtain the 
details and minutiae of the life and death of her who 
so largely occupied his thoughts. But that was not 
all, neither was it the most doubtful and perplexing 
question which came up in his mind for debate. 
Alice must go, as his own peace of mind and hap- 
piness demanded it; and, with man’s usual conceit, 
he judged that her happiness might depend upon it 
also. But into this decision must come the opinion 
and permission of several older, more staid and 
experienced people, who seldom sympathize with 
ardent lovers, or show any mercy or pity in consid- 
eration of the existence of the same conditions which 
earlier led to their own entanglement in the meshes 
of wedlock. The most heartless ignoring and scorn 
of the tender passion, with its exalted bliss, is fre- 
quently manifested by those who in their own ex- 
perience exhibited the greatest fanaticism and un- 
reason when under its enchantment. It would be 
sacrilege to say that mutual love, with all its bound- 


THE KODAK WOMAN 263 

less possibilities, which fills congenial hearts, and 
makes their lives a melody, was not a refugee from 
Paradise, who bribed the angelic guard, then fled 
through Eden’s gates to bless the weary world with 
its beatitudes; but its counterfeits of lust, passion, 
ambition, and fraud in myriad forms, are wrecking 
homes, disappointing hearts, and discrediting heaven, 
while at sacred altars, with sacrilegious voice and 
vow, they call themselves by God’s most precious, 
all-abounding, gracious name of Love. Lost in 
the world’s frivolity, sacrificed at society’s glittering 
shrine, bartered in the popular marts of conventional 
usage, sold in the family stock exchange for gold or 
title or preferment, feigned by impecunious specula- 
tors, Love wanders forth, bereft of its matchless 
crown, stripped of its princely adornings, heaven’s 
own messenger of rest and peace, unknown, unseen 
or unaccepted by those who need it most. 

In the morning Belmont reached the trysting 
place in advance of time, but he had not long to 
wait, as Nora soon appeared, and, rising to meet 
her, he led her to a seat near his own. She smiled 
upon him with a mother’s fondness, and, being re- 
lieved of the presence of others, they talked for some 
time in a most confidential and enjoyable manner. 
Belmont ran hastily over the principal occurrences 
of his life since he last saw her, and when he came 
to tell her how they had left Scotland — his father so 


264 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


anxious to see Nora and learn all that could be 
known in reference to his wife, — and of his disap- 
pointment at her absence from New York, with the 
attending uncertainty, the tears came into her eyes, 
and she said, “I am so glad he found me at last." 

Then Belmont proceeded with a recital of the 
visit to Eulalia’s grave, and how he had thereafter 
removed her remains to Greenwood Cemetery and 
placed her beside Montpier’s wife, and finally had 
erected a monument at her grave. 

Nora could remain quiet no longer, and, with a 
mixture of profound grief and joy, and with an in- 
spiration and exaltation like those of her old theat- 
rical days, she rose up, while tears flowed over a 
face sublime in its solemn peace and joy. She raised 
her hands, and, looking toward the western sky, she 
exclaimed: 

"Thank God! he never forgets his own." And 
then, sitting down, she looked inquiringly at Bel- 
mont, waiting for what more he might have to say. 

"Now you will not wonder," he continued, "that 
father is anxious beyond expression to have a long 
confidential talk with you, and that in his grief since 
he has learned of her death we have sometimes 
feared for his reason." 

Nora was deeply affected by this recital, and 
asked, "How shall it be arranged so that I can have 
an opportunity of talking with him and comforting 
him as best I may?" 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


265 


Then Belmont told of the proposition of visiting 
the most scenic and attractive places in California 
before returning East, and suggested that she join 
the party, which would not only afford the desired 
opportunity, but would be highly appreciated by his 
aunt, as it would ensure her a traveling companion. 
Nora readily consented, and, this decided to their 
satisfaction, a lull in the conversation ensued. It 
was not for lack of thought, but how to express it 
was the question. Finally Nora said: 

“You have made requests for your father and your 
aunt, but for yourself you have asked nothing. Am 
I to believe that you have outgrown the necessity 
for love and help from one who cares for you as she 
does for nothing in the world beside?” 

Belmont took her hand, but the power of speech 
was paralyzed by the memories of the past, all of 
which she knew. He felt that he could trust her, 
but would she trust him? He could not lift his eyes 
to hers, and he felt the crimson mounting even to 
his forehead. Would she think him guilty? If so, 
of what? The hand he held tightened in its clasp, 
and directly she said : 

“What is it, child? You need not fear, whether 
it be innocence or guilt — whether it be an idle fancy 
or the soul's gift of itself — but something troubles 
you. ” 

Belmont, overcome by her tenderness for himself, 


266 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


and fearing lest she should think the matter more 
reprehensible than it really was, said with some hes- 
itation : 

"I was thinking of the past, and wondering if 
you could ever again trust me.” 

“O , " she replied, greatly relieved, "if that is all, 
I think you can trust yourself, and I know you can 
trust me to help you to do the right. “ 

Belmont changed his seat, coming to her side, 
and putting his arm about her neck, he drew her 
head down upon his shoulder, saying: 

"I cannot have your eyes upon my face while 
I tell you, it seems so weak and childish, and yet 
it has been the strongest, most irrepressible expe- 
rience of my life. I mean the old infatuation, with 
the uncertainty of her fate, and with a ceaseless sor- 
row and pity, lest in some degree I might have 
helped to ruin her life. It has been like a thread 
of destiny which wound its way through all these 
years, sometimes almost obliterated and forgotten, 
then suddenly returning with an added pang of pity 
and uncertainty. And this is what has brought me 
from Scotland to San Francisco — to see her face 
once more or learn her fate, and also my own — 
whether I could go out from her presence a free 
man, or must die a fool, sacrificed at the shrine of 
my own folly; and, to my unspeakable delight, I 
find her happily situated with her own family, and 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


267 


not nearly as attractive to me, as you are my care- 
ful mother,” he said, looking at her affectionately 
as she raised her head from his shoulder. 

She smiled happily as she replied, "I am so glad 
that it is all over and you belong to yourself once 
more. " 

"But,” he replied, replacing her head on his 
shoulder again, "don’t be too sure about your scape- 
grace, for this freedom was at the price of making 
him once more a slave, for I find that all the old 
fascination is transferred to another, with the addi- 
tion of a supreme love and profound respect which 
was never accorded to the former. And I must ad- 
mit at this moment that the desire to win her love 
and herself dwarfs every other aspiration of my 
life. And now, my patient, all enduring friend, can 
you see any way in which to help your unsatisfac- 
tory boy?" 

For the moment Nora was thoroughly vexed, and 
she was glad Belmont could not see her face as she 
mentally exclaimed, "Hardly out of one scrape' before 
he is deeper in another!” But the changeless ten- 
derness returned, and she said rather wearily: 

"If I had the least idea to whom you refer, I 
might be able to tell what I could do for you.” 

He leaned his face close to hers and whispered, 
"Alice. " 

At this, Nora sat upright and, looking at Bel- 
mont, replied: 


268 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


“Yes, I can help you, for it is the most sensible 
thing I ever knew you to do. Of all the women I 
ever met, Alice is the sweetest and the truest.” 

Belmont had very little doubt of his ability to 
win the love of Alice, but the consent of the parents, 
especially of Mrs. Lasure, was quite another thing, 
and he said to Nora: 

“I wish Alice could go with us in our excursions 
here in the State. We would make short trips, re- 
turning home every few days. ” 

Nora considered the subject for a few moments, 
and then said: 

“Yes, you must have opportunity of becoming ac 
quainted. I think Mrs. Lasure will trust her with 
me; but I tell you now, she has always distrusted 
you since you left her at ‘The Shelter,’ and I have 
been careful to keep up the illusion, because it 
seemed for the best for her so to think. The di- 
lemma in her mind will be that if she could not 
trust you in her own case, how much less with her 
daughter — young, inexperienced Alice! but if it is 
explained to her that I caused your return to New 
York, kept you there, and finally sent you to Scot- 
land, regardless of your own wishes — then, what?” 

Belmont sat still, while slowly a crimson blush 
of shame and confusion suffused his entire face, rose 
to his forehead, and was lost under the brown, wavy 
hair. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


269 


"Sure enough," he said drearily, "she will think 
me a villain anyhow, supposing that I have now 
returned in search of the first prize, but, finding her 
so happily and safely located, I have concluded to 
transfer to the daughter a sickly sentimentalism 
as a sort of palliative, and the only alternative in 
the case. " 

The disgust and contempt expressed in his face 
and voice were overwhelming and pitiable. Nora, 
who had clearly seen this difficulty, finally said: 

"There is one thing in your favor. Mrs. Lasure 
seldom takes the trouble to reason closely, and the 
past with her seems dim and far away. She has had 
no occasion to keep it in mind and brood over it 
for years like yourself. She loves Alice because she 
is her child and also very lovable, and if she came 
to know that you love her also, there would be a 
pride and satisfaction in this which would prevent 
any mental criticism derogatory to yourself; for your 
personal attractions and abilities, your present finan- 
cial independence and future prospects of an old 
and valuable inheritance, as well as the family title, 
would be sufficient to cover a multitude of deficien- 
cies, did they exist. Fortunately for your success, 
Mr. Lasure knows nothing of the past intercourse 
between his wife and yourself. Alice is the apple 
of his eye, his exceeding treasure, and were there 
a doubt of your devotion to her or of your sincerity 


270 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


in any respect, all the titles or kingdoms in the 
world would not have a feather’s weight in winning 
her from him and the home nest. You may be sure 
that he will never give his consent for her to leave 
him unless he is convinced that her happiness de- 
mands it.” 

This puzzling question being disposed of, they 
turned their attention to a more definite considera- 
tion of their future plans. Belmont proposed that 
Nora ascertain if Alice’s parents would consent that 
she accompany them on their excursions, and then 
spend to-morrow afternoon at the hotel, where she 
could advise him in reference to the matter. Mean- 
while he would return, and with his party complete 
the remainder of the day in sight-seeing about the 
city. It was eleven o’clock when they separated, 
and Belmont hastened back to his room and found 
that the rest of the family had gone out for the 
morning. 

Nora slowly returned to the house, somewhat anx- 
ious in regard to the manner of presenting the sub- 
ject under consideration to Mrs. Lasure. During 
yesterday’s visit, the advisability of making short 
trips out through the State, with headquarters at 
San Francisco, was discussed by the guests in the 
presence of the family; and Mr. Lasure mentioned 
Yosemite Valley and the big tree groves in Mari- 
posa Valley as the most attractive points in the 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


271 


State. Nora found Mrs. Lasure reading as she en- 
tered the parlor, and, taking a seat near, Mrs. Las- 
ure looked up and recognized her presence with a 
smile. 

“Excuse me,” Nora said, “but I come to talk 
with you about a 'project which was discussed by 
our visitors yesterday — that of making short tours in 
the State, with headquarters, in this city. Although 
I have been to many of the places which they will 
visit, yet I would like to go a second time. Be- 
sides, I might be of service to them as well as en- 
joy the trip myself. Miss Douglas said yesterday 
that she would be glad of my company, and besides, 
it was sometimes embarrassing to be the only lady 
in the party.” 

Mrs. Lasure acquiesced in all she said, and added, 
that she herself would enjoy the vacation, but 
it was impossible for her to leave home at present. 
Then Nora added quite indifferently: 

“Perhaps you could spare Alice to go with me, as 
she has not yet visited any of these places, and I 
noticed yesterday that she looked quite animated as 
the plans were suggested, and rather disappointed 
at not being one of the fortunate excursionists. ” 

Mrs. Lasure replied that she should have no ob- 
jections if Alice wished to go and her father was 
willing, “as of course you would look after her in- 
terests, " 


272 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


Nora, assuring her of that fact, went out in search 
of Alice, whom she discovered in the pavilion, her 
usual resort on a warm day. Alice laid down her 
embroidery as Nora came and took a seat by her 
side. 

“I came to consult you in reference to a matter 
pertaining to yourself.” 

Alice nodded, as much as to say, “Please proceed,” 
and Nora continued: 

“You remember our friends from the East pro- 
posed excursions to the surrounding country of only 
a few days’ duration and then a return to this city. ” 

Alice again nodded, and the speaker proceeded, 
“Now, I propose to go with them on these trips.” 

Here Alice almost caught her breath, and clasped 
her hands — an eager expectancy beaming from her 
eyes. 

“And I came to inquire if you would like to go 
also. ” 

“O, wouldn’t I!” Alice said, and then the anima- 
tion faded from her face as she concluded, “but 
papa would miss me, and mamma might need my 
assistance. ” And she was ready to cry with disap- 
pointment. 

“But your mother is willing, and I think your 
father will give his consent if it will add to your 
happiness. ” 

Alice was silent. It was a hard struggle for her 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


273 


to decide between love and duty to her father and 
her unutterable longing to see the outside world 
amid nature’s magnificence and grandeur. She 
clasped her hands tightly. The tears came to her 
eyes as she said: "He shall decide." 

After the dinner was over Nora told Mr. Lasure 
what arrangements had been made with reference to 
the excursions, and asked if Alice might accompany 
them. 

Mr. Lasure turned to Alice, who sat looking de- 
murely down at her folded hands, and asked her to 
come to him. She arose immediately, and he saw 
that her face was full of expectancy as she came 
and took her seat on his knee. He put his arm 
around her and asked: 

"Should you like to go?" 

"Yes," she replied, "if you would not miss me 
and are willing." 

"I am very willing, but to say that I shall not miss 
you I could not." And he kissed her affectionately. 

There was a clinging about his neck and a sigh 
which was almost a sob, but a grateful, happy 
look in her face, as she thanked him more in ways 
than in words, and, with a prolonged hug and a 
loving smile, she went back to her seat, and her 
father went out to business again. And thus it was 
arranged, and the next day Nora spent with the 
Douglas family, who were highly gratified when they 


274 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


learned that Nora and Alice would accompany them 
on their excursion. 

They now decided that their first trip should be 
to the Yosemite Valley and the Mariposa groves, 
which were near together. After the lapse of one 
day more they commenced their journey, for such it 
proved to be in tediousness. This, however, was 
much relieved by the novel and ever changing scenery 
through which they passed. About sixty miles from 
the Yosemite they took a lumbering stagecoach, 
which at this time was the only conveyance by which 
to reach the valley. The road over which this passed 
was wild and dangerous in the extreme — through nar- 
row, rocky canons, up inaccessible mountain sides, 
and along precipitous ravines which seemed to yawn 
in expectancy hundreds of feet below. There were 
magnificent views at times of distant snowy peaks, 
with successive barren, wild, and broken ranges in- 
tervening. 

It was near sunset of the second day when they 
passed into the Yosemite, and the long, lingering 
twilight of these mountain regions filled the valley 
with weird enchantments and beauty. It had been 
a tiresome journey to our travelers, for, with the 
excitement of the wild, impressive scenery, there 
had been what seemed to them hairbreadth escapes 
as they neared precipices, or the struggling, weary 
horses climbed apparently inaccessible steeps. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


275 


When they took their seats in the coach, the driver 
suggested that each gentleman take a lady by his 
side, “as,” he added significantly, “the roads and 
the driving will become quite as interesting at times 
as the more distant scenery; and I know by experi- 
ence that you cannot always trust the ladies, as they 
will scream, or jump out, or do the most unreason- 
able things when they need their wits the most. 
But you know,” he added sarcastically, “men are 
always serene and composed, regardless of circum- 
stances; and I shall expect you to maintain quiet 
and order throughout the entire route, as four horses 
are all that I can manage without having on my 
hands a coach filled with frantic people. You need 
have no fears, as the horses are reliable as well as 
the driver,” he added encouragingly, "and have gone 
over this route a great many times together without 
- accident of any kind.” 

The proposed arrangement seemed perfectly satis- 
factory to those concerned, notwithstanding the cow- 
ardice attributed to the women, or the doubtful and 
sarcastic manner in which courage was accorded to 
the men. By accident or otherwise Montpier took 
a seat by Hinda, Belmont sitting down by Alice, 
and as Mr. Douglas and Nora completed the party, 
there was an excellent reason why they sat together. 

The charioteer’s predictions were fully realized as 
far as the alarming situation was concerned, and 


276 THE KODAK WOMAN 

Alice clung to her companion, trembling and white 
with fear, while he held her close to himself, hid 
her face in his bosom and covered it with his hand. 
Hinda’s face expressed a growing anxiety as she 
saw only empty space across a wide chasm, while 
the coach was so near its edge that it seemed sus- 
pended in the air. Instinctively she drew back 
against Montpier and reached for his hand, although 
she did not withdraw her eyes from the abyss which 
held her with its terror. It must be stated, however, 
notwithstanding the heartless reflection upon Mont- 
pier, that he rather enjoyed the situation, as he had 
for some time been wishing an excuse to capture 
the shapely hand which lay so carelessly near him; 
and he now decided that he would not relinquish it 
without a silent protest. But when the excitement 
was over, Hinda seemed to have forgotten the hand, 
and did not attempt to reclaim it. 

Nora was in her element, as she felt that here 
was scenery fitting for any tragedy. She knew not 
fear, and, with a sort of rapt and exalted ecstasy, 
gazed almost breathless and unshrinking upon the 
surroundings. She did not speak or stir until they 
had passed on into the more commonplace, and 
then she turned to Douglas, whose presence she had 
quite forgotten, and asked apologetically: 

"You were not afraid?" 

"O, no," he replied, "I only thought, as I saw 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


277 


your courageous face so full of rapt delight, what a 
comfort you must have been to her in her weakness 
and distress.” 

"Yes,” she responded, "I did all that could be 
done, and gave her all my heart’s sympathy and 
love. But why,” she asked, “will you continue to 
think of her in the past, in this land of sunsets and 
twilights, of shadows and midnights? She is nearer 
from the other way. You crossed the meridian years 
ago, and just before is the morning land, where 
she lives rejoicing and only waits your coming.” 

The day drew to a close, and the sunset only 
lingered above the lofty steeps as the coach drew up 
in front of Leiding’s Hotel in Yosemite Valley, 
where they stopped for the night. After supper they 
held a consultation and decided to visit the Mari- 
posa groves, only sixteen miles distant, the next 
day. In the morning, refreshed by a night’s rest, they 
started early for the grove, which they reached in 
good season, as it lay in the same valley with Yo- 
semite, and was easy of access. The trees are gi- 
gantic in size, standing at wide distances from each 
other, with great rocks and bowlders scattered among 
them. The day was warm, and the shade accept- 
able. There was considerable verdure of various tints 
of green, and a few pale wild flowers that grew at 
the base of the jutting rocks and the roots of the 
trees. Some of the trees had been felled and exca- 


278 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


vated, leaving large rooms inside, which tourists en- 
tered and examined with much interest and curi- 
osity. The valley, although comparatively level, had 
depressions and slight elevations, and many springs 
of clear, cold water bubbled out at the sides of the 
mossy rocks. 

It was a wonderful place, but cool and well adapt- 
ed for an excursion or day’s outing. The party sep- 
arated and wandered about as objects of interest 
attracted or fancy indicated. One tree stood near an 
immense, almost perpendicular rock, and Hinda saw 
a slightly worn path, which she followed and found 
at the back a narrow opening which led into the 
center, which was hollow. It had the appearance of 
being frequently visited, as the decayed wood and 
sand had been trampled into quite a hard floor. The 
aperture extended irregularly with jagged edges to 
some height, through w hich the light penetrated, 
producing the effect of subdued twilight within. 
She saw at one side a newspaper spread upon a pro- 
jection near the ground, something resembling a 
shelf, which had evidently been used as a seat. 
Here she sat down, taking a long, restful breath. 
Presently she heard footsteps, and Montpier stood 
in the entrance, peering through the dimness. He 
did not perceive Hinda in the faint light, and was 
turning to leave, when she said: 

"If you would only rap, I should bid you come 
in. ” 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


279 


He did not wait further summons, but came and 
sat down by her side, saying: 

"Isn’t this comfortable after walking about so 
long? I am really tired," he continued. "Perhaps 
it is because I am getting old. What do you think 
about it?" And he looked toward her; but the light 
was too dim to detect the expression on her counte- 
nance. After a slight hesitation she replied: 

"It is somewhat dangerous to ask practical people 
their opinion on delicate subjects." 

"But their opinion is valuable when you get it, 
because it is reliable," he rejoined. 

"Well, then, age is so indefinite, and has such a 
variety of applications, one is puzzled to answer 
questions in regard to it. For instance, if you had 
asked my age, I should have told you that ten years 
ago I was quite old, but then the dial commenced 
turning back, and to-day 1 am as youthful in my 
feelings as at any time in my life." 

"Then you ignore the succession of years in your 
estimate of age?" 

"Entirely," she replied, laughing, "and why not? 
As long as the heart is young and the body in sym- 
pathy, why harbor a dread of decay any more than 
the fear of other calamities to which we are liable. 
The great mass of earth’s inhabitants pass on into 
the perfectness of the beautiful hereafter without 
having experienced physical mishap or decay in 


28 o 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


this present greatly berated and abused world. If we 
keep ourselves in harmony with the ever changing, 
progressive social conditions, dipping in rhythmic 
stroke with the y oungest oarsman, we need never 
leave the current or be crowded to the shore; and 
when we pass on, they miss a comrade they never 
knew was old.” 

“Well,” he said, "this is encouraging. You have 
found the spring of youth and been drinking of its 
waters, I do believe; and the enchantment is conta- 
gious, for since I have known you I seem to have 
drifted away from my weary, tiresome self, and only 
the thought that the years are passing and my hair 
is turning grey checks the joyful impulses of my 
earlier days.” 

"But,” she asked, “why should not life be one of 
present feeling and emotion instead of retrospect — 
of present enjoyment instead of foreboding?” 

He replied, "If I only dared presume upon your 
teachings, if I was sure your heart would heed your 
reasoning,” — here he hesitated for a little, his voice 
lost its animation, and he continued with a touch 
of bitterness, "But what does it matter whether we 
are young or old, or how intense are our loves or 
longings, if there is none to care? One can exist 
with a heart like a deserted temple, where the lights 
are extinguished and the singers departed; but there 
is no hope, no joy, in such a life. Yet it only needs 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


28l 


the touch and the inspiration of love — the return of 
the light and the music— to restore its beauty and 
happiness. Will you be the Oracle — not only in my 
home, but in my empty heart — to change all things 
by your courageous, loving presence?” 

"And can you trust all this to me and be mine en- 
tirely?” she asked. 

“Gladly,” he responded. 

“Then I come,” she continued, placing her hands 
in his. “Not that you need me, but because I covet 
the grand, magnificent man who calls me, more than 
all beside.” 

He put his arms around her and held her to him- 
self, saying: 

“I have waited for you so many, many years, un- 
til, weary and belated, I had lost hope. Now, be- 
hold, you are here in my arms. I hear your voice 
— I feel the beating of your heart— I look into your 
eyes, and call you mine. ” 

The supreme moments in life are always the 
shortest, although it may have taken days, or 
months, or years to reach their completeness. They 
now heard voices near, and went out to find the 
friends searching for them. Nora explained: 

“It is almost noon, and we have our lunch pre- 
pared a little way from here, in real picnic fashion.” 

And immediately they started in the direction in- 
dicated, Alice taking the lead. Suddenly she stopped, 


282 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


looking toward the low, broad stump where the din- 
ner was waiting, and exclaimed, “What’s that?” 

“O, the thief!” cried Nora, and she almost flew 
toward the spot, while the poor little squirrel, more 
scared than any one of the party, dropped his bis- 
cuit among the leaves and fled like the wind up a 
tall rock near by. When he had reached this place 
of safety, his astonishment and fear somewhat sub- 
sided, and, looking down inquisitively, he tried to 
explain. But it was all in squirrel language, a syl- 
able at a time, with a quick little jerk of the bushy 
tail and a continued bobbing about, which might 
have been meant for an apology or regret for the 
loss of his dinner. The company were soon seated 
upon some large stones located conveniently near, 
and the squirrel, accepting this as a suspension of 
hostilities, descended from his perch and came 
quite near, and finally ventured to pick up some 
crumbs which they threw toward the rock for his 
dinner. Alice wondered why he should be so tame, 
and Nora explained that the mountains were full of 
these little chip-squirrels, who seemed quite domes- 
tic, staying around the mining camps, and some- 
times coming regularly for their lunch. “Evidently,” 
she added, “this little marauder sees any number of 
excursionists and appropriates the remnant of their 
meals. ” 

After lunch our company remained several hours, 


THE KODAK WOMAN 283 

and then took the conveyance back to the Yosemite. 
In the morning they went down to the Bridal Veil 
Falls, which, with the Yosemite, are the only known 
falls where the sheet of water at its summit has a 
vibratory or wavy motion, like a white shining veil 
flung over the lofty cliff, which the winds swing to 
and fro. 

While the party were admiring the falls and 
busily talking and wondering at its mysterious 
movements, Alice observed a small grotto or niche in 
some projecting rocks not far away, and she went 
to see what, if anything, it might contain. As she 
reached the entrance, she picked up a lady’s hand- 
kerchief lying directly in the path. She did not 
stop to look at it, but crumpled it in her hand and 
went inside. There seemed nothing of interest in 
connection with the high arched and peculiarly 
shaped enclosure. She slowly went forward, look- 
ing upward at its bell-shaped roof, which seemed 
set upon triangular rocks whose surfaces were white 
and apparently smooth, facing each other somewhat 
like sounding boards. Suddenly she struck her foot 
against a sharp stone projecting from the floor, and 
she made an exclamation of surprise and pain in a 
prolonged “Oh!” which the walls caught up with 
many contending voices and tossed back and forth 
until they reached the dome where, uniting in har- 
mony, they descended in a musical echo which 


284 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


called back to her "Oh!” She was quite surprised 
and interested, staying for some time, experimenting 
with the ventriloquistic qualities of the grotto. 
Presently, remembering that her friends might be 
anxious at her absence, she hastened back, to find 
them just arranging skirmishing parties to search 
for her. Alice told them of the wonderful grotto, 
with its loquacious propensities, and then, remem- 
bering the handkerchief which she still held in her 
hand, she spread it out for inspection. It was an 
elegant, costly article, revealing a name in one 
corner. It was daintily but clearly traced, and simply 
"Wafey. ” 

She turned white with surprise, and then changed 
to pink with excitement. She had never heard the 
name except in connection with her childhood’s 
friend and governess, Wafey Dolenes; but the ele- 
gance of the article which had raised the suspicion, 
caused a tumult in her mind. She felt sure that 
no other person was ever given that pitiful name, 
and she was equally certain that the exquisite 
handkerchief could never belong to her young friend, 
who had always been poverty’s child. One other 
conclusion called for immediate action. The valley 
was full of tourists, and therefore any lost article 
would be very soon picked up; and she felt sure 
that the owner of the handkerchief was not far away, 
and she proposed to go immediately in search of 


THE KODAK WOMAN 285 

her. “For,” she said, “I do so long to ascertain if 
it be the Wafey I used to know.” 

Here Belmont interposed by saying, “I will go 
with Alice, and the rest of the party can meet us at 
the dinner hour if we do not see each other before.” 

Alice was impatient, and, seizing Belmont’s arm, 
without further delay commenced walking rapidly 
in the direction which she presumed the fugitive 
had taken. Soon they came to an abrupt turn in 
the path, occasioned by an immense bowlder sur- 
rounded by clumps of bushes. As they passed this 
they were hidden from their friends, and Belmont 
suddenly stopped and said: 

“Miss Lasure, at the rate you have been rushing, 
your strength will not last ten minutes longer, and 
you will defeat the very object for which we have 
started. ” 

She only replied, “Please call me Alice and let 
us go on.” 

“But I shall not," Belmont replied. “I will not 
allow you to exhaust yourself in this way. Now, 
if you will be reasonable and listen to me, I will 
find the owner of that bit of embroidery if I have 
to employ a detective and stay a week in Yosemite. ” 
Here he took her arm, and they walked more lei- 
surely along. 

Alice scanned every person who came in sight 
very closely, but she saw none who resembled the 


286 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


person for whom they were seeking. She was be- 
coming impatient again, when, some distance ahead, 
a gentleman and lady came from a winding path, 
and turning, walked directly toward them. 

Alice was all excitement. “I think it’s Wafey, ” 
she said, “only such beautiful clothes and such a 
distinguished man. Mr. Delong, Wafey’ s husband, 
was smaller and younger.” And disappointment 
expressed itself in her voice. 

"I’ll ascertain,” Belmont said, “never fear;” and 
he gave the arm he held a slight reassuring pres- 
sure. 

As they came near Alice was the more convinced 
that it was the Wafey of long ago; but oh, how 
wonderfully changed! The bright, sweet face was 
the same, only more mature; but the rich apparel, 
and also the courtly gentleman with the kindly face 
— who could he be? 

As they came near, Belmont, pausing, greeted 
them. They stopped and returned his salutation. 
“I am escorting this young lady,” Belmont ex- 
plained, “in search of the owner of a handkerchief 
which she found and now has in her possession.” 

Here Alice produced the article in question, and 
the lady’s face brightened as she replied, “We were 
just returning to the echo cave, where I thought 
I must have dropped it. I am grateful for this 
kindness,” she continued, “as it was a present, and I 
prize it highly.” 


THE KODAK WOMAN 287 

"I am sure,” Belmont replied, “that Miss Lasure 
is equally happy in restoring it.” 

A look of surprise came to the lady’s face as she 
turned to Alice and said: “I once knew a family in 
the East by that name, who were very dear friends 
of mine.” 

“Yes,” Alice replied, “and I judge you are Wafey 
Dolenes, and I am the little Alice, who has remem- 
bered you all these years with more gratitude and 
affection than I can express. ” 

Here the two gentlemen turned iheir backs upon 
the scene, and, arm in arm, marched up the path 
until it wound out amid some clumps of shrubbery, 
where a seat offered, and they sat down to wait for 
their companions. 

The ladies, thus left alone, embraced each other 
most affectionately, while laughing and crying and 
talking with an animation and confusion which 
never could have been intelligible or interesting to 
any but themselves. Wafey ran over her history 
very rapidly, at last telling Alice that the gentleman 
with her was her present husband, Mr. Tracy, who 
was connected with the Pacific Railroad, and they 
had been stopping a few days at Yosemite. Then 
Wafey and Alice went on until they found the gen- 
tlemen, who by this time had become quite well 
acquainted. At noon they met the rest of their 
party, and Nora and Wafey were delighted to see 


288 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


each other. In the morning Mr. and Mrs. Tracy 
took leave of their newly found friends, as business 
required his presence in Denver. 


CHAPTER XII. 


Several days had now elapsed since the tourists 
left San Francisco, and Belmont knew that within 
a short time they must return. His acquaintance 
with Alice had progressed but slowly, while she 
seemed perfectly unconscious of the actual situation. 
But he was keenly alive to the difficulties of the 
case, and the confidence of an easy conquest was 
fading away. In comparison with him she felt that 
she was little Alice of years ago, while he was her 
father’s distinguished guest and friend. Had any one 
asked her how she liked Belmont, she would have 
said without hesitation that she thought him the 
finest person she knew except her father. She was 
ever mindful of his wishes and his comfort, but it 
was with the air of one who serves instead of loves. 
She was not in the least awed by his distinguished 
person any more than flowers are by the sunshine, 
neither was she flattered by his attentions. It seemed 
a matter of course that they should make themselves 
as agreeable as possible, with a view to the mutual 
pleasure of both. She received his marked and con- 
stant attentions in the same manner that any appre- 
389 


2go 


the kodak woman 


ciative acquaintance would have done, and returned 
them with the careful anxiety of one whose gratitude 
prompts a full reciprocation; and Belmont almost 
believed that if he should ask her to sit on his lap 
and kiss and caress him as she did her father, she 
would do it with a dutiful sense of filial propriety. 
But still, this was a little too doubtful and dangerous 
an experiment to attempt, and with it all, he was 
exasperated beyond measure. The only palliative cir- 
cumstance in the case was, Belmont believed that 
Alice did not understand her own heart. Its affec- 
tions had never been awakened to their demands 
or their possibilities. She must be aroused to a defi- 
nite interest in himself. She must learn to analyze 
her own emotions, and to know that the heart 
cannot slumber on interminably, like the birds of 
spring, who simply joy in their existence, flitting 
among the half-leaved boughs, careless of mate or 
nest. The spring is only here, the summer farther 
on. They swing from the flowering branches, sing- 
ing their roundelays of pleasure, heedless of autumn 
days or coming storms. What matter if time, with 
restless feet, would only wait upon the shining 
mountain peaks, or linger in the verdant valleys? 
Alas! alas! in his brightest moods he flies the 
fastest, and the ecstasies of life are like illuminations 
that make the world all glorious for a moment, then 
leave it to a darkness deeper than before. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


291 


To Belmont this question was one, not only of 
perplexity, but of expediency. He knew that wom- 
an’s love is largely influenced by her sympathy. 
Gain that, and you have found the way that leads to 
the citadel of her heart. Several hours of the pre- 
vious night, which should have been spent in slum- 
ber, were devoted to planning a siege which should 
not cease until a decision was gained, the impor- 
tance of which, in the mind of Belmont, dwarfed the 
issues at Waterloo or Trafalgar. 

In the morning, after the departure of Mr. and 
Mrs. Tracy, the remainder of the party continued 
their tour of inspection through the Yosemite. Bel- 
mont, who retained Alice by his side, lingered in 
the background, and, coming to a shady nook one 
side from the path, they sat down, secluded from 
the passers-by, and Belmont remarked as he leaned 
back and removed his hat, “I’m tired;” while his 
exhausted manner and weary countenance fully con- 
firmed this declaration. She looked surprised, but 
her sympathy was instantly enlisted, and she said: 

“There is some cool water a little way from here, 
and if I only had something in which to get you a 
drink, I am sure it would refresh you.” 

But he replied languidly, “I am not thirsty, but I 
am lonely. I am not homeless or friendless, but 
companionless. My life has been a strange — perhaps 
a romantic one; but it has been exceedingly desolate. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


292 

I have had wealth, with all the attention which that 
commands. From society I have received my share 
of its fawning and flattery; but my cheerless child- 
hood, my unsatisfied and unsatisfactory manhood, 

- with a history and an experience which must never 
•~-J be told, makes, notwithstanding all this outward 
prosperity, a desolation in my heart like the wastes 
of a silent, sunless desert." 

To Belmont these conditions had been dwelt upon 
so many times and his feeling so wrought up that in 
this conversation he keenly felt every word he ut- 
tered, while the present uncertainty added a sort of 
gloomy despair to his over-taxed feelings. Alice, 
with an interest which expressed itself in every fea- 
ture, placed her hand upon his arm and said in a be- 
seeching tone: 

"Do tell me all of this, for I am sure I can under- 
stand and comfort you. I have been very sad and 
lonely in my life sometimes." 

But Balmont replied, "I have no right to trouble 
you with my unfortunate moods. I ought only to 
bring you sunshine." 

"But," she added, "there you are mistaken. Every 
one may share our pleasures, but only those in whom 
we confide, those that we trust as we trust ourselves, 
may share our inner life, come into our hearts, and 
know it all — the bright or shadowy, the sorrowful as 
well as the glad, and the evil also, that we may be 
forgiven and loved as before," 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


293 


And there, sitting closely side by side, he told her 
the story of his life. There were two reasons for 
this recital. First, if he won her love it must be 
with a full knowledge of his history. Also, if he 
would gain her confidence, it must be by freely giv- 
ing of his own. He told her first the pathetic story 
of his infancy as he had heard it from Nora, and 
then continued the recital down to the present time. 
All save that one occurrence which came so near to 
wrecking other lives and happiness beside his own. 
This had never passed his lips, and never would. 
When he ceased speaking she looked up with eyes 
full of pity, but with a happy smile, as she said: 

“I am so glad that you were not to blame, and it 
is all over now.” There was animation in her voice 
and genuine thankfulness in her words. "But,” she 
continued, “ii is so different. I always thought until 
now that you dignified, exalted people were exempt 
from the calamities which befall us poor mortals of 
inferior rank. It makes one’s trials seem lighter to 
have your company.” Then she added, somewhat 
embarrassed, “It must seem strange to hear me talk- 
ing thus gravely about troubles; but even a child 
might have grievances quite as hard to bear as those 
in later years.” 

"Yes,” he said, "I understand; and sometime you 
shall tell me all. But now you must help solve an- 
other problem. You know, by what I have just told 


294 THE KODAK woman 

you, that I am constantly in difficulties and full of 
heartaches. Are you willing to always stay with me 
and help me meet and conquer these adverse things?” 

Again the old timid look suffused her face, while, 
half conscious of the meaning of his words, half 
frightened at their import, she dropped her eyes 
and was silent. Belmont thought of that day in the 
pavilion when he first saw her and had so longed to 
clasp her in his arms, and now he rejoiced that he 
dare do so; and gathering her to himself, he held 
her in a long, close embrace while he asked: 

“Will you be mine, and stay with me always?” 

She quietly disengaged herself from his arms and, 
looking down, replied: “I cannot tell. I never 
thought of it before.” Again she was silent. 

Presently Belmont asked, “Do you care for me at 
all?” 

“O, yes,” she replied quickly, “I am sure I do.” 

“Pardon me for asking,” he continued, “but it is 
of vital importance to us both. Is there any one 
that you love more than myself?” 

She replied, “There are so many kinds of love — 
so many ways of loving — how can one tell? I think 
I love nearly every one that I know. ” 

Belmont was disconcerted. This was entirely too 
democratic a love to suit his exclusiveness. It cer- 
tainly was a novel way of considering the subject, 
and he was curious to have her explain, and he sug- 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


295 


gested, "Give an illustration. I think I do not 
clearly understand you." 

"Certainly," she replied. "Among my numerous 
friends nearly each one has some particular talent 
or gift which makes them agreeable to me, and for 
this I love them and am happy in their presence, 
but as my own feelings or moods change, so they 
are attractive or distasteful; and if unfortunately I 
were to marry one of them when I was enchanted 
by his singing, or captivated by his delightful con- 
versation, or won by his elegant and courtly man- 
ners, or fascinated by his protestations and flatteries, 
I should tire of him in a day, and wish I had made 
choice of some other. So I have concluded that in 
some way I should have to combine all the desirable 
people I know, or their special gifts in one, to sat- 
isfy the demands of my unreasonable and fickle 
heart. " 

Belmont was never more surprised in his life. 
This clever and natural setting forth of facts in her 
explanation was a rational and philosophical reason 
for the many impulsive, hasty marriages, with the 
life-long disappointment and regrets which follow; 
and he was the more anxious to know her mind in 
regard to himself, so he asked in a bantering way: 

"What specific gift, if any, do J possess? and I 
will immediately set about acquiring all the other 
graces, if so be that I can find favor in your sight." 


296 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


She hesitated for a moment, and then replied, 'I 
cannot recall a single attraction which you possess, 
only yourself. I never think of you as being en- 
dowed with any special gift, and when you return 
to Scotland, I shall not miss you because of any- 
thing, except that in your presence I was happy and 
in your absence there is only a blank.” 

"And shall you miss me when I am gone?” 

At this question she looked down quickly and in 
a subdued voice replied, “I cannot tell you how 
much.” 

“But will you not go with me?” 

"I cannot. My father could never spare me.” And 
she turned her face away to hide the tears. 

"Shall I stay with you?” he asked. 

"Would you?” she responded, with an excited 
clasping of her hands. 

"Suppose you get tired of me as you would of the 
others.” 

But she said, "It is different with you. There is 
nothing that I — ” Here she ceased speaking,looked 
down, and her cheeks took on a brighter pink. 

Belmont quickly turned her face toward his own, 
looked into her eyes, and said, "Go on; I am dying 
to hear you say it.” 

"It was nothing, only that I love you for yourself 
alone, while with the others I fear I simply admire 
thei ccomplishments. ’ 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


297 


"But you did not answer my question," he per- 
sisted. 

"You must answer that yourself. All the loves in 
the universe must not win me from my duty and 
affection for my father. If you only knew," she added 
pathetically, "all we have been to each other — how 
much he needed me, and how much more I needed 
him." Here she ceased speaking and sat silently 
looking into the obscurity of the past. After a while 
she murmured, "Oh, it was pitiful! — but I must not 
talk about it. You shall decide." 

Belmont felt guilty and humiliated as he thought 
of that unhappy episode in which, without any defi- 
nite intention, he had taken a part, but whose de- 
plorable results, with their wretchedness and terror, 
had so cemented the affections of father and daughter 
that the strongest passion of the human heart — con- 
jugal love — was powerless to separate them. With 
emotions which Alice could not understand, he said, 
"I shall stay." 

Her countenance lighted up with intensest joy, 
and, putting her arms about his neck, she leaned 
her face against his own in a most confiding and 
affectionate way and whispered, "I am so glad and 
so happy." 

Then they sat talking for a little, having quite 
forgotten that a long time had elapsed since they 
commenced their interview. Presently they heard 


298 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


voices, and emerging from their seclusion, they 
found their friends in search of them. Nora became 
spokesman for the delegation, while,, with a very 
happy face, but indignant manner, she exclaimed: 

“O, you truants! Here we have been looking for 
you ever since we discovered you were lost; and had 
it not been that I became responsible for your safe 
return, we might have left you to find yourselves as 
best you could.'* 

Alice blushed in a slightly conscious manner, but 
smiled in unison with the others. 

The commotion attendant upon finding the fugi- 
tives having subsided, they again resumed the explo- 
ration of the valley. This, with the day following, 
completed their stay in Yosemite, and then they re. 
turned directly to San Francisco. 

It was a happy meeting when they all came to- 
gether once more at Mr. Lasure’s home, and as they 
sat in the parlor in animated conversation relative to 
the happenings both here and in the Park during the 
past week, Mr. Lasure quietly made room on the 
sofa and signaled Alice to come and sit by him, 
which she quickly did. Then he put his arm around 
her and looked into her face with a love which was 
touching in its tenderness and care. He inquired 
how she had enjoyed the trip, and she replied very 
much, and had been very happy, and then she 
asked: 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


299 


"How did you get along without me?" 

"First rate,” he answered, "only I missed you 
immensely, and have concluded to make a hermit of 
you the rest of my life. ” 

Alice's heart beat fast, and she looked at Belmont. 
His attention was directed toward her, and in his 
face was a look of rapt expectancy. Then for the 
first time Alice fully realized how almost impossible 
it was to meet all the demands which unselfish love 
might require at her hands. But all were in the best 
of spirits, and conversation filled the room with a 
delightful babel which rose and fell in pitch and 
cadence, according to the inspiration of the theme 
and the animation of the speaker. But the evening 
was passing, and the guests soon departed, and the 
Lasure family retired for the night. 

When Belmont reached his room at the hotel, he 
sat down with a long sigh, weary with the excite- 
ment and fatigue of the past few days, but withal 
he was very happy, and decided that he would see 
Lasure in the morning in reference to the arrange- 
ment between Alice and himself. He must be ex- 
cused for this haste, as a lover never yet was known 
to possess the grace of patience. In the motning 
Belmont repaired to Mr. Lasure’ s office, where he 
was received very cordially, as he had always been 
a favorite with Lasure from their first acquaintance. 
He asked Belmont innumerable questions about their 


300 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


trip to Yosemite, as the day previous he had been 
too much interested with Alice, together with the 
confusion attendant upon the happy occasion, to get 
any clear ideas of the facts. 

Belmont related the many incidents which had 
taken place and among other things he mentioned 
having seen Wafey, and what he had learned of her 
past history, and concluded by stating that she now 
had her second husband, a Mr. Tracy, one of the 
stockholders and directors of the Union Pacific Rail- 
road. 

Here Mr. Lasure’s face lighted up with pleasure 
as he remarked, “I know him well, as our firm has 
charge of their legal matters here in San Francisco. 
He is really a splendid fellow, and now he has a 
lovely wife in Wafey. We have often wondered at 
his remaining a benedict so long, but it pays to 
wait if you can win a prize at last.” 

“I am gratified to hear you say that, Mr. Lasure, 
as it coincides with my experience so nearly. - I have 
been acting upon the theory — not only in the wait- 
ing but in the choosing also, and I am here for the 
purpose of laying the subject before you, not only 
for your opinion but for your approval.” 

Mr. Lasure looked somewhat mystified as he re- 
plied, "I might not be a competent judge. Do I 
know the lady to whom you refer?” 

Belmont answered, “Very thoroughly, I presume.” 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


301 


And then, with an effort which required all the 
courage he could command, he said: 

"Mr. Lasure, my life has been an eventful one, 
which at times has taxed my abilities to their ut- 
most in its exigencies; but nothing in the past has 
ever required so much of absolute force of will, of 
temerity, of heartless ignoring of the sacred rights 
and tenderest affections of others as my present pur- 
pose of telling you that I want the apple of your eye, 
the idol of your heart, the comfort and delight of 
your home — your Alice — for my own, my wife.” 

As Belmont talked, a pallor overspread the coun- 
tenance of Lasure, and he felt as one who stands 
petrified and helpless, watching the slowly approach- 
ing disaster which he is powerless to avert. When 
he ceased speaking there was silence for a short 
time, and then, turning, Lasure took Belmont’s 
hand and said: 

"It is all right. As I have seen Alice growing 
into such perfect and beautiful womanhood I felt 
that our present careless, delightful life could not 
always last; that not far away the call which takes 
no denial would come to her heart, and I must sac- 
rifice in silence, that she might not be unhappy; 
and in connection with this thought was a fear that 
one unworthy might win her affections and become 
her choice. But destiny, or providence, has been 
better than my fears, for no man lives to whose care 


302 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


I would commit her so unhesitatingly as to yours. 
But,” he added with a grim smile, "I suppose if the 
angels should come to take our best beloved home 
to heaven, with all its glories, we should regret their 
presence and deplore their mission.” 

After Belmont’s departure Lasure could think of 
nothing else during the morning, and before the din- 
ner hour he returned home and sought Alice in the 
pavilion. As he came and took a seat by her side, 
she said smiling: 

“You are too early for dinner this time.” 

“It is not the dinner that interests me, but the 
doings of my little girl.” And he returned her 
smile as he spoke. 

She looked inquiringly, and he answered, “I have 
seen Belmont.” 

Instantly her eyes fell, and her cheeks crimsoned, 
and she reached for his hand. He took hers in both 
of his with a gentle, reassuring pressure. 

“Was I cruel and wicked?” she asked, and her 
voice trembled as she spoke. 

“Not at all,” he replied. “Belmont will make you 
a good, true husband, and I am glad you selected 
so safely.” 

“But I did not select,” she responded. “I don’t 
know how it happened; all I remember is that he 
was sad and lonely and wanted me to live with him 
always, and I — ” Here she hesitated, and her father 


THE KODAK WOMAN 303 

completed the sentence — "And you wanted to do so. 
I do not blame either of you in the least. In fact, 
I cannot see how you could have avoided the con- 
clusion, and I am quite happy in view of it.*' And 
he put his arm about her slight form and held her 
close as he talked. "But you must not think that I 
shall not miss you when you are gone." 

"Oh, but I am not going," she added with anima- 
tion. "I am going to stay with you always, and 
Belmont is going to stay too." 

At this announcement Mr. Lasure was surprised, 
amused, and puzzled. Although there had been a 
dull, heavy pain in his heart ever since he had 
learned the facts in the case, yet he was determined 
that Alice should never know or share the pain if 
he could prevent it. 

"Who proposed this arrangement?” he quietly 
asked, feeling that it was a delicate question. 

She replied without hesitation, "I told Belmont 
that I never, never would leave you, but if he would 
stay here” — again she ceased speaking, and her 
father added, "You would be his wife." 

"Yes," she replied, and hid her face in his bosom. 

Mr. Lasure smoothed her hair, and caressed and 
petted her, but just what to do in the dilemma he 
did not know, for, practical business man that he 
was, he could not countenance such an arrangement 
for a moment. Yet if he told Alice that she must 


304 the kodak woman 

go, he was sure that she would doubt his affection 
for her. Still he smoothed her hair, and finally 
leaned his face down upon her head. It was like 
giving up his own life to send her forth, but it must 
be done, yet how without pain to her, was the ques- 
tion. Presently he asked: 

"Would }'Ou not like to see Scotland?” 

"Yes,” she replied, "the best of anything, if you 
would go.” 

He now saw his way clearly, and said, "I think 
I’d like the trip. My partner can attend to the 
business, and Frank can look after the office, and 
I’ll take a vacation. I believe I never have had 
one.” 

Alice raised her face with the evidence of tears 
having been there, but now very happy as she re- 
plied: 

"Won’t it be grand! And we shall enjoy it so 
much. ” 

After dinner Mr. Lasure sought his wife and laid 
the whole matter before her; and, as Nora had pre- 
dicted, she was pleased and gratified that Alice had 
made so fine a match. Mr. Lasure wished her to 
accompany them to Scotland, but, with a prudence 
which had come of her past experience and the pass- 
ing years, she replied: 

"It is best for one of us to stay at home, for Jessie 
would not only upset the school, but astonish the 
town, before ©ur return.” 


THE KODAK WOMAN 305 

So the general arrangements were thus quickly 
completed. 

Hinda'was anxious to inform Belmont of her en- 
gagement to Montpier, as she was somewhat doubt- 
ful of his approval of the plan, for she knew that 
in his childhood his regard for his foster father was 
of the nature of awe rather than affection; but she 
consoled herself by saying, with the air of one who 
has fully decided, “If he is opposed it will make no 
difference, for I shall not break my promise.” 

She went to Belmont’s room quite early in the 
morning following their return from Yosemite, but 
he was not in, and she returned somewhat disap- 
pointed, as the doubt in her mind troubled her not 
a little. After dinner she went with him to his 
room, where she told him of her engagement to 
Montpier. Belmont was surprised for a moment, 
then, laughing in a merry, musical way, he ex- 
claimed: 

“Good for you! You will be my mother at last.” 
And, seizing her hands, he drew her from her seat 
and waltzed abqut the floor with her in quite a boyish 
fashion. In fact, he was extremely gratified, for, 
although Montpier was too stately for his childhood* 
yet as a man he admired him greatly, and he knew 
that Hinda would mourn disconsolate when the 
time came for his own marriage. “Besides,” he said 
to himself, “they need each other, and will be con- 


306 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


tented and happy,” And he was more gleeful over 
this than anything which before had transpired in 
his life. 

Belmont now told Hinda that he was intending to 
marry Alice, and it was her turn to be surprised and 
pleased. She admired Alice and thought she would 
make Belmont a lovely wife; but a paramount reason 
for her congratulations was that it seemed a sort of 
recompense to him for her own desertion; and she 
concluded that circumstances had arranged them- 
selves in a very satisfactory manner to all. The 
finale was that after a few weeks the marriage of 
Belmont and Alice would be celebrated and they 
would go to Scotland, accompanied by Mr. Lasure 
and the friends from the East. Montpier and Hinda 
had a private conversation about this time, and he 
immediately returned to New York to arrange his 
business, preparatory to accompanying the bridal 
party from there. 

Belmont took occasion to see Nora alone, and 
said, "Now, I have come for the fulfillment of the 
promise you made so many years ago, and shall in- 
sist on your returning to Scotland to live with me.” 

She was only waiting for this invitation, for she 
felt that she was needed there more than here; and 
besides, there had come into her heart a homesick 
longing for her native land. 

Time sped on, and in its flight wrought out the 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


307 


destinies planned by human will. The wedding 
occurred at Mr. Lasure’s, and the bridal party started 
eastward on the impatient train. At New York they 
included Montpier, and then took the steamer for 
Scotland, which they reached in due time. At Edin- 
burgh the friends were joyful at their coming, and 
glad to greet atfd graciously welcome those who 
were to become a part of this family circle. Soon 
after their arrival Montpier and Hinda were married 
at the castle, where all the relatives had gathered, 
with many old and valued friends of the family. 

To Nora there was a kind of gloomy pomp and 
grandeur about the old castle, which suited her pe- 
culiar temperament and moods. After the marriage, 
the younger members of the family spent much of 
their time in Edinburgh. Douglas and Nora preferred 
the castle, but there was scarcely a day but what 
some of the family from the city were there for a 
flying visit or a longer stay. Lasure stayed in Scot- 
land for several months, and spent the most of his 
time at the castle, as he enjoyed its ancient gran- 
deur and the wild sublimity of its scenery; and 
besides, wise father that he was, he chose to leave 
Alice by herself with friends at Edinburgh, that she 
might become accustomed to his absence. Lasure 
felt quite at home with Nora, and became much at- 
tached to Mr. Douglas, who seemed more at ease 
amid his home surroundings, and impressed him as 


3o8 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


a grand type of a Scottish gentleman of an older 
period. It was such a change from the hard, cease- 
less, monotonous grind of a law office, that Lasure 
enjoyed the rest and vacation more than any as 
short a period in his previous life, but he finally 
concluded to return to San Francisco, and Alice was 
persuaded to remain a while longer by the earnest 
suggestion of her father, and Belmont’s promise to 
return home with her at any time when she wished. 

Belmont resumed his place with Mr. Berwick, but 
stipulated for a private office of his own, and was 
given a large room pleasantly located. A part of 
this he partitioned off with handsome screens and 
furnished with carpet, table, easy-chairs, and a desk 
filled with books, periodicals and stationery. Then 
he told Alice that he had more copying than he 
could do, and he thought of getting a clerk to assist. 
She immediately suggested that she should like to 
be the clerk, if she could do the work. 

"Yes,” he said, "I think you can. Let us go to 
the office and see what you think of it." 

When they reached the place and she saw the 
pleasant, cozy corner which he had prepared, she 
said, as she marched in and took a most inviting 
rocker: 

"Oh, you arch deceiver! I know you prepared 
this charming place for me, and did not intend to 
get a clerk at all." And she laughed and rocked 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


309 


and chatted, quite captivated with the surroundings. 
“And where will you be?” she asked. 

“Right here,” he said, folding back the screen and 
pointing to a desk near by. 

“And I am to be a business woman," she contin- 
ued, “and come to the office every morning, and 
copy documents, and look solemn, and never hear 
anything that is said, never reveal any secrets, never 
talk or laugh or kiss the proprietor — must be quiet, 
docile, tired, and glad when the day is over. ” 

Here Belmont laughed outright. “Who would 
have believed it?” he said. “You have guessed just 
right, and I shall not have to explain. ” 

And this was the beginning of a new life to Alice. 
Belmont paid her by the piece for all the copying 
she did. She demurred at taking pay, but he in- 
sisted that it was business and that she could not 
have the work without. And so a happy fall and 
winter were spent, Alice usually going with Belmont 
to the office, where, if she did not wish to write, the 
books and periodicals were at hand, and occasionally 
she broke over the "cast-iron rules” and talked and 
laughed with the proprietor. She wrote long and 
loving letters to the home folks in America, and 
received of the same kind in return. She never 
knew that she had left the old home, but felt that 
she was on a long visit, and was content and happy 
in the thought. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A number of years had passed away since Nora 
came to Scotland with the Douglas family. She 
spent most of her time at the castle, as the wild and 
romantic scenery had a strong attraction for her. 
She was a devout Episcopalian, and on the Sab- 
bath, when the weather would permit, in company 
with Douglas, she attended church at Edinburgh. 
After the marriage of Hinda she was the acknowl- 
edged housekeeper of the castle. This seemed to 
fill the last aspiration of her heart — to rule in that 
old ancestral mansion, filled with sacred memories, 
and suggestive of the gay and happy throngs who, 
departing, had left it in silence, echoless and wait- 
ing. The castle was furnished throughout; but 
many of the rooms were seldom opened except from 
curiosity. No one looked from the lofty dormers or 
pushed back the silken draperies, which in some 
instances were falling into decay through age and 
neglect. Nora, with the privilege of her position, 
had investigated every inch of the castle, and to her 
highly impressible nature “Sacred” was written 
everywhere. She saw family portraits hanging 
310 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


311 

against the flecked and mildewed walls, belonging 
to the several generations, each drawn in the pecu- 
liar style of the age to which it belonged. Time 
had marred their beauty, until in many instances 
they were only a sad reminder of what once had 
been. In one room at the extreme end of the western 
wing of the building Nora found an ^Eolian harp 
hung in a lofty window, strung by unknown hands 
in years uncounted and forgotten. It had been ex- 
quisite in its day, of silver strings and box of ebony. 
She took it down, carefully removed the dust, 
slightly increased the tension, and, brushing the 
cobwebs from the window, raised it to the desired 
height and replaced the harp. 

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, 
birds were singing, and the fragrance of June roses 
came into the room. Only softest zephyrs stirred 
the leaves, and the harp was silent. She went to 
an adjoining room and opened a window, then com- 
ing back, left the door ajar and again sat down to 
listen. Presently there was a soft, uncertain strain 
like an echo of distant music. Then followed a 
succession of harmonious chords, unwritten harmo- 
nies, witcheries of sweetest melodies, like the voice 
of spirits that wandered singing through the rooms, 
then vanished at the far window. Nora was awed 
by this music amid this strange, weird desolation. 
Eyes looked down upon her that saw not, lips parted 


312 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


with the smile of youth that spake not, and there 
were folded hands that moved not — only the image 
of what once had been and a memory of what had 
forever departed were there. This room became a 
favorite haunt of hers, for she was only human, and 
when the heart, weary and homesick, longed "for 
the touch of a vanished hand, and the sound of a 
voice that was still,” and faces looked wistful across 
the years, these surroundings were in harmony with 
her moods. 

There are reach mgs back of the spirit hands, 

For the things they once possessed, 

A look toward the years where the lights went out, 

A sorrowful, sad unrest. 

There are snatches of olden music, 

And the glimpse of a glorious day, 

Which come through the hazy mists of life, 

From the land of the “far away.” 

And the heart grows hungry, and sick, and faint, 

For the ones it left behind, 

While we only wonder and watch and wait, 

And weep for the “Auld Lang Syne.” 

But we know they are kept by a tender hand, 

And will wait for you and me 
As we pass through the gates of the morning land, 

In that future which is^to be. 

After some years Nora’s health began to decline, 
with premonitions of heart disease. A change of 
climate was suggested by her friends, but she said, 
"No, the excitement and fatigue of a journey would 
only increase the difficulty. I inherit the disease. 




314 THE KODAK WOMAN 

All of my family die young. I have already lived 
to a greater age than the most of them.” 

This, although very indefinite, was the first reve- 
lation ever made by her in regard to her relatives. 
She became less active, but always cheerful, with 
a peaceful radiance in her countenance and a hope- 
ful, happy anticipation of the future. A trusty serv- 
ant always slept in a room adjoining, but there was 
seldom occasion for her services, as Nora usually 
rested well, scarcely considering herself an invalid 
as yet. One morning Ruth, the maid,, when she 
awoke found the door between the rooms closed, 
and, going quietly, she opened it and discovered 
Nora sitting at her desk, with her arm leaning upon 
it, on which her head was resting. The lamp was 
burning, although the sun had risen and was shin- 
ing in at the window. Ruth looked at her just for 
an instant. A faint smile was on her lips, and a 
calm that cannot be disturbed was in her face, while 
the peace that passeth understanding, which comes 
alike to all and yet but once in time, or through all 
eternity — that peace which is so profound that it 
separates us and this world forever, and whose si- 
lence and mystery combine all the terrors of the uni- 
verse and make cowards of the human race, and 
which with blanched face and white lips and bated 
breath we call "Death” — that peace had clasped her 
in his embrace, and she was white and still and 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


315 


cold as marble. Ruth did not shriek or faint, but 
with face white and ghastly, fled from the room with 
overmasterful dread and noiseless footsteps. It was 
but a few moments before the household, sad, silent 
and tearful, were gathered in Nora’s room. Ten- 
derly they laid her on the couch and dispatched a 
messenger for a physician and the friends at Edin- 
burgh. Some papers lay upon the desk where she 
was last sitting, and upon examination they were 
found to pertain to her demise and arrangements 
therefor. By appearance they had been prepared 
some time previous. Evidently in her forecast of 
events she had anticipated this sudden removal, 
and the instructions were careful and definite. She 
wished to be buried in Paris, naming the cemetery, 
with number and location of lot. The paper con- 
tinued, “Lay me by the side of General Latieure, 
whose grave is the only one in the plat. Erect .a 
monument the same as his, with this inscription; 

‘Nora, born May 7th, 18 — . Died . HegivethHis 

beloved sleep.”' On the desk was a small, exquisite 
portrait, done on ivory, of a young, strikingly hand 
some man in the military uniform of the French 
army. The personnel of the man, with his match- 
less eyes, was beyond compare. The miniature, 
although in the style of many years previous, was 
well preserved and faultless in every respect. A 
diary was likewise found which was a curiosity in 
itself. It dated far back into the past and seemed 


J 

316 THE KODAK WOMAN 

to be more of a memorandum than a record. It 
consisted largely of dates, in connection with which 
were just laconic sentences, sometimes sad, some- 
times joyful, which doubtless recalled volumes of hap- 
piness or grief to the writer, but meant nothing but a 
mystery to the reader. There were several short poet- 
ical effusions without title or subscription, apparently 
just a heartache or a joy moulded into rhyme and 
thrown carelessly upon the page. The most lengthy of 
these was near the front of the book and consequently 
had been written years before. It was without title 
preface or supplement, and told its own story, leav- 
ing in the mind of the reader a grouping of the 
portrait, the poem, and the grave in the cemetery. 
The hands that had guarded her treasures were 
folded and still, and reverently the friends to whom 
she had silently committed them read the records. 

“I will not think of thee, I must forget; 

For like a dream has vanished all that made thee once so 
dear, 

And I have learned, with slow and sad regret, ' 

To still the heart’s unrest, though thou be far or near. 

“I dare not, will not linger o’er the past, 

Or live once more those days of dreamy, tranquil bliss; 

For, disenchanted, I have from me cast 

All thoughts of thee — still they come back in spite of this. 

“Not as of old, a joy and a delight, 

Only the echo of a voice my soul once thrilled; 

Dim picture of a face and eyes of light, 

Which charmed my fears to rest and all my fancies filled. 


THE KODAK WOMAN 


317 


“Only the fragrance of a flower now crushed 

Fills the heart’s great loneliness and all the empty years; 

Only an idol broken and returned to dust, 

A touch of pathos too deep for words — too sad for tears. 
“And thus, ’mid all life’s cares or its delights, 

There comes a shadowy, mystic quiet spell, 

A voice, a face, a smile, a fading light, 

Past memories sadder, yet sweeter, than words can tell. 

“Of what avail to chide the throbbing heart? 

In spite of all resolves, or prayers, or sighs, or tears, 

This minor note — this sable thread — grief's part, 

Winds out and in through all life’s weary days and years." 

The diary and the miniature were placed in the 
coffin with her who alone knew their meaning or 
their history. Nora’s instructions were definitely 
followed. Mr. Douglas and Belmont accompanied the 
remains to Paris, and when they reached the cem- 
etery found everything as described in the instruc- 
tions. The plot designated had been well cared for, 
and upon inquiry they were informed that at the 
burial of General Latieure~a lady had made the 
arrangements and then deposited a sum of money 
under the supervision of the trustees of the cemetery, 
the use of which was forever to be devoted to the 
care of the lot. The monument now occupying the 
plot, although bearing date of many years previous, 
was free from mildew or dust. There were a few 
ornamental shrubs and flowers which were in blos- 
som, tastefully disposed about the grounds, which 
were covered with a grassy turf, well shaven, soft, 
and velvety. 




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Romance of Two Worlds 

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